Vespers
by spoons are for marmalade skies
Summary: A tragedy leaves Bella in a spiral of strange events. She's more confused than ever when a hot, magnetic lawyer offers a distraction from the tangled feelings she has for her oldest friend.
1. Prologue

**Hi everyone! I've actually almost finished this story so will be able to update probably a couple times a week. I hope you like it, and would LOVE feedback! Thanx!**

I've been waiting in the square for awhile now, long enough for the sun to streak over the fountain and sink behind the old theatre. Knowing I arrived early I'm trying to be patient but I'm starting to wonder, insecurity poorly disguised by irritation. It's time to stop dragging out the last sip of my coffee, I get up and make my way over to the trash bin.

Without warning, arms encircle my stomach, my heart feels like it's going to explode it's beating so fast, and I let out a cry. I try to lurch away but I'm pulled back against a lean, familiar body.

"Honey, I'm home." Jacob's voice is low in my ear. I turn towards him, my fear immediately swallowed up by the sight of him, my pulse refusing to slow down as his eyes run over me. He's taking in every detail, like he's noticing any small change in my appearance since the last time he saw me. I flush under his gaze, momentarily forgetting everything but my desire to measure up, waiting for some sign of approval. But then he looks away.

"Did you think of texting that you'd be late?" I ask frostily.

"Nice to see you too." His lips quirk up at the corners. He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me closer so that I have to tilt my head back to see his expression, I'm taken aback by the intensity in his eyes.

"Come on, I drove here. Let's go for a drink."

Jacob's Porsche is parked haphazardly by the side of the road nearest to us, we arrive at the passenger side and my heart thuds as he backs me up against the door. Trying to control my breathing, I make myself take a slow leveling breath, fighting the urge to let the air escape through my lips in a quick rush, anything to deflect from the sensation of his body pressed against mine. I gulp and look down at our toes as his hand brushes against my hair.

"What has you so tense?" Jacob's persistent obliviousness to my feelings cuts into me, sharper than him being late. I defiantly push back against his rock-hard torso, but my weight doesn't even make him budge.

"Seriously, Jacob?" I ask. After half a beat he backs off a step, but instead of being satisfied by his withdrawal I feel rejected. I manage to catch the door handle behind me and open it enough to clumsily climb in. The soft leather interior is luxurious but tension has me sitting up, pin straight, instead of relaxing back into the seat. I turn so that I'm facing forward, making it awkward for him to touch me again. For an excruciatingly long moment he stands looking down at me, then he slams the door shut.

As we pull out into traffic, I train my eyes on the road ahead of us, unable to think of a single word that I can say out loud. Usually we have a million things to talk about, but I'm finding it harder and harder to be friends; it feels disingenuous, a masquerade, when there's so much more that I want. So instead I keep looking silently out the window, and keep it all inside.

He makes a last-minute turn off Houston, ignoring the furious honking of the cabs behind us, and pulls into a side street. There's an expensively-dressed crowd lined up along the sidewalk and spilling onto the road in front of us; harsh neon lights over a rusted metal door are the only signs that the place they're waiting at is anything other than a block of run-down apartments. The sight of the seedy, albeit trendy, pub has nerves gnawing at my stomach. Being alone with Jacob after a few drinks seems like the perfect way to say something I can't take back.

The shelves behind the bar are lined with all kinds of interesting bottles. Balancing carefully on my very tall and wobbly bar stool, I take in the rows of vials, test tubes, antique-looking perfume bottles, all neatly labeled with names like 'creme de violet' and 'green chartreuse'. One of the bartenders picks up a perfume bottle with a tasseled pump on the end and I watch with interest as he spritzes it into the drink he's making. I catch a glimpse of the label, which reads 'absinthe', that explains the shocking emerald of the liquid inside.

"How are the renovations going?" I ask, turning my attention back to Jacob and setting my glass down. doesn't answer; one arm slung casually over the back of my chair, he's watching a bartender expertly mixing drinks and I'm not sure he heard me at all. She's tall and blonde, with a smoking hot body. As she's pouring a drink, her gaze falls directly on Jacob over the rim, and she gives him a seductive smile. I swiftly look down into my drink, and concentrate on swirling the liquid so that the ice clinks around in the glass. Jacob constantly and effortlessly attracts so much attention, that the idea he's going to want me seems like an impossible wish. When I look up again his eyes are on me. His expression somehow imbues a lazy enjoyment, a relaxed but temporary state that could flick into scorching heat at any moment. It's difficult to think when Jacob's attention is focused so totally on me, and it's a moment before I realize he might have just asked me something. "What did you say?"

"It's not happening, I'm moving into the city."

"Wow that's sudden," I say, surprised, "you and Derrick love your place." It's outside of the city, but what they lost in location they definitely gained in size: a sprawling rancher with a big pool in the back, wet bar, games room, and every other bachelor pad necessity.

"You're going to be here, what other reason does there have to be?" Jacob asks. As I try to think of a flippant response, the bartender slides a drink in front of Jacob.

"I heard you were asking for something special," she says coyly, leaning over the bar towards him.

"I was," he says, letting his statement hang in the air before adding, "for Isabella." He makes no move to touch the drink, and watches her as she finally picks it back up and places it in front of me. I'm sure my embarrassment is staining my cheeks but I force myself to look at her, and give her a polite smile. She smiles back, an insincere, professional curve of her lips that doesn't reach her eyes. Jacob doesn't watch her go. He's still looking at me, not taking me in like before, this time his eyes are fixed on my face, as if my blush or a change in my expression could give him as much information as my words. Under his scrutiny there's no chance that I'll come up with something to say, the best I can hope for is a coherent response to whatever subject he chooses.

"Have you talked to your brother?"

I study him carefully. "Not for a few weeks." The last time I saw them together, I had thought there might be a subtext that I wasn't included in. Derrick was getting pretty wild and the way Jacob was watching him, it was like he was waiting for him to go off the rails or disappear into a haze of frat parties. Concern creeps in, I never thought about that weekend again until now. I was wrapped up in school and took for granted that Jacob would sort it out, the way they've always watched each other's backs.

"What's going on, Jacob?" I ask, guilt and worry lacing my voice.

"Nothing, we should go." He tosses some bills down on the bar. "I have to swing by my place to talk to him, want to come?"

The house is mostly dark when we arrive. Jacob goes to see if he can find Derrick in his room, while I walk through the kitchen, flicking on a few lights along the way. I open the French doors to the backyard and step outside, my eyes taking a minute to adjust to the dim light of dusk. The glow from the windows and the flickering pool are the only illumination as I walk along the deck, and I'm right at the edge before I notice Derrick in the water. It takes me another moment to register that he's not swimming, his body swaying gently, the blue lights refracting his shadow against the side of the pool. My mind refuses to process the unnatural way his form is floating, limp and lifeless.

I try to call Jacob to come outside but I can't speak, frozen to the concrete where I stand. I stagger to the side when he runs past me and jumps into the water, I can hear him but can't make out the words over the rushing in my ears. I feel numb. Derrick is flung out on the tile next to the pool, Jacob yelling at him and shaking him. Derrick's arms hang by his sides and his legs aren't moving at all. One of his pockets has come inside out, I want to put it back in. I wonder, as if from a distance, what he was doing swimming in his clothes.

I walk over and fumble with the pocket but my trembling hands aren't working properly. Jacob is in my way, I push him and he gets up. His hands fist in my hair, turning my head roughly to force my eyes towards his, and I realize that he's saying, "We have to call an ambulance Bella," over and over. He's pawing through my jacket and then he's gone.

His footsteps fade and silence falls, filling my limbs with a bleak hopelessness. I lay down beside Derrick, looking up at the sky, his clammy arm cold against mine. Touching his body makes me shiver but my heart still feels like lead, as if nothing will ever move it again. I'm a match tossed into a stream, saturated and unignitable. I don't think I'm intoxicated - or maybe I am, I can't seem to remember what I was doing before this.

A thump from inside the house rouses me and I sit up, staring straight ahead. Finally I bring myself to look at his swollen face beside me; caught in the grotesque horror of it, I can't turn away. His eyes are still open but there's nothing of him in that blank stare. It's strange because I think of my own mortality often. It haunts me at night, my eyes unable to shut for fear of not existing. But in my thoughts it's always me who's a stone cold corpse, soon to decay and disappear.


	2. Chapter 1

In the months that followed the accident, constant motion got me through each day. I threw myself into my course work; sleepless nights spent reading and rereading, days spent stumbling around like the walking dead, mindlessly taking notes. I worked part-time jobs in every minute that I wasn't studying, the bustle of filling orders and dealing with customers sometimes distracting, sometimes chafing my already overwhelmed emotional state.

And then there were the death-defying acts. The grind of college and work wasn't consuming enough to keep the memories at bay. For that I needed a sudden rush, something that rendered my mind incapable of thought. I developed a habit for a short time, of daring death; something to assuage my guilty conscience, I would push myself to see how close I could get to the brink. It had seemed like a proper retribution for the things I hadn't done.

Now I'm back in the city, a new job, a new neighbourhood, my new apartment: the first I've ever lived in by myself. I'm hoping to start a brand new chapter, get away from my own self destruction. The elusive clean break. Except it's hard to start a brand new life when all I want to do is see someone from my old one.

Jacob is waiting for me in Battery Park. It's strange to pick him out from the crowd; when he turns his head I catch sight of his face, and I'm hit hard by how much I've missed him. His dirty blond hair still falls in a careless shag, the muscles in his arms and chest stretching taut the fabric of his t-shirt. I slow my steps, hanging back so I can have a moment that's unmarred by what we might say to each other. Meeting at this spot as we've done countless times before, I can almost believe that nothing has changed and we're going for our usual run. But something else about him is different, a tension in his shoulders or the way he's standing, I can't even place what it is but it's intruding on my fantasy, causing it to flicker unconvincingly.

"Hey," I say, meaning to sound casual but it comes out stressed. Jacob glances my way but doesn't comment.

"Ready to go?"

Setting off, I concentrate on breathing in deep, focus on the empowerment that comes from matching Jacob's stride step for step. We follow the waterfront, the sun is finally out and the New Jersey skyline is glittering across the water. We run almost the entire route in a silence broken only by our runners slapping the pavement. I've barely seen Jacob, and I think back pensively to that evening when he told me he was also going to move back to the city.

"You're not taking care of yourself," Jacob says, breaking into my thoughts.

I self-consciously touch my reddish-brown hair, my clothes have been hanging off me a little and I'm paler than usual.

"I broke up with Matt," I offer.

"Oh yeah."

Hurt by his unsympathetic tone, I look away. I try to stem the anxiety that squeezes my chest, my constricted lungs making it even harder to keep up with him. We don't go much farther but it's almost more than I can manage. Finally Jacob slows down, he stops and leans against the dock railing, looking out over the harbour. The scene is picturesque; sailboats, yachts and the occasional water taxi dot the choppy greyish-blue water, set against the backdrop of gleaming high-rises. Instead I turn towards the sidewalk, paying attention to the people going by, rather than the water in front of me. I shut my eyes for a moment and try to picture something calm and relaxing, forcing myself not to relive the feeling of struggling underwater, gasping for air as I break the surface. When I can't shake the images, I focus instead on the fresh, salty smell of the ocean, so different from the perfumed water of a bathtub, or the chlorinated smell of a pool.

I take one more deep breath and face Jacob. He's turned around and is standing with his back against the rail, appraising me with a moody stare. Finally he prompts me, "Last time I saw you, you told me you were really into him." He sounds almost accusatory.

"Things change," I reply, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Jacob looks at me impassively. We stand in tense silence, I'm confused by how pissed off he seems to be about my breakup. I thought it would be the least confrontational explantation for my appearance. I look down at the ground, moving a pebble around with my toe, then nudging it away, annoyed by my own fidgeting.

"Let's finish up, want to go first?" I lift my head, surprised by the warmth in his voice. He's smiling at me, and even though it's not much more than a quirk at the corners of his lips, I feel lighter, some of the exhaustion draining out of me at least momentarily.

"Sure." I stretch out on a nearby patch of grass, folding my hands behind my head. He crouches at my feet and wraps his hands around my ankles so that I can start doing sit-ups.

"So how's the new job?"

"Good. Of course it's all top secret, confidential stuff," I say, teasing myself as much as him.

"Yeah yeah, hotshot lawyer," he drawls, pretending to look unimpressed. "Luckily I can tell you all about my life. You're going to find it so interesting."

"I do, what have you been up to?" I ask curiously.

He launches into a story about last night, getting so caught up in it that he lets go of my ankles to start gesturing. I sit up and wrap my arms around my legs, watching his animated face. Hearing him talk about his friends leaves me with an overwhelming feeling of loss, as if they're a poor replacement for something else. All I can think about are the times that the four of us spent together. Not long ago we would probably have been making plans for tonight.

Jacob has stopped talking. "What is it?"

"Huh?" I'm startled out of my thoughts.

"What's with the look?"

I shrug, not wanting to voice what I'm thinking. "Lindsay's having a gallery opening on Tuesday, want to come?"

"Sure," he says easily.

He pulls me to my feet and tugs me close, wrapping me in a hug. "It's good to see you Bella," he says, taking my chin in his hand so I can't look away. "Nice move with the boyfriend." He lets me go, and I take a shaky step back.

"Thanks." I don't know what to do with my arms, so I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets. Knowing that our time is up, the adrenaline of seeing him is starting to wear off, I realize that it's chilly out and despite the bright sunshine a sharp breeze is coming off the water. There's a cool sheen of sweat down my back and I begin to shiver. "See you in a few days?" I ask.

"You bet." He touches my arm one last time before jogging off.

We ran a couple of miles up the riverside but I'm glad to walk the rest of the way home. Block after block of crumbling brick starts to blend together as I lose myself in my thoughts. Seeing Jacob has a complicated and exhausting effect, my jumble of emotions too difficult to even begin to untangle. I have an intense need to see him, but when I do it takes a toll on me. Memories and feelings that I try to block out swim around my head, with no regard for the passage of time.

I get lost in my thoughts, and I've walked halfway home before I notice where I am. I must have automatically headed this way out of old habit, Jacob and Emma shared a studio apartment near here. It was a short-lived experiment, Emma was an unreliable roommate, throwing a party one day then off to photograph a show in another country the next, often without bothering to mention it to anyone. For the most part it washed right off Jacob and I secretly enjoyed it. I got to walk from Brooklyn and the crowded townhouse I shared with Derrick and his friends every summer, relishing the excitement of TriBeCa, on my own for the first time, my body humming with anticipation for what Jacob and I would get up to.

We used to meet at the pub down the street from here and unbidden my feet turn towards it now, dread mixed with nostalgia to see it. The clutter of construction on the sidewalks and the humid, stuffy midtown air haven't changed, the incessant honking of cabs a familiar soundtrack to the ghosts that roam this neighbourhood. It's as if everything that's happened since then was wiped away by a numbing eraser and for the moment it's my life that seems like a dream, the past more real to me than the present. As if I could walk home and see Derrick. Instead my empty apartment is waiting for me I think bitterly. I walk that way wishing I could leave my ghosts on this street, but they hurry after me.

A shout nearby startles me out of my thoughts, an aggressive street vendor trying to sell me sunglasses and souvenirs. After a couple of months in Chinatown I'm starting to learn how to avoid the constant heckling on the streets below my apartment. I used to say something polite and get roped into all kinds of conversations, they always ended with me having to say over and over that I didn't want something. Now I ignore my impulse to respond when someone talks to me, even though it feels rude. Staring straight ahead, I try to hurry past, but it's so busy at this time of day, the sidewalk is a crush of people. I try not to panic as I'm pinned in on every side, spotting a coffee shop halfway down the block I duck inside. I look up at the blackboard trying to decide. now that I'm in here I should order something but I have no idea what I want. It feels silly that I didn't struggle through the crowd for a few more blocks, then I might already be home, and yet I'm still reticent to make my way out into the sea of bodies. I need a few more minutes without being jostled and pushed up against.

Taking my tea to the standing room by the window, I look blankly out, detached from all the people rushing by. Their pace is so enthusiastic, as if there's somewhere important that they have to be. From behind the glass, the steady stream is calming. Watching life pass by isn't incomprehensible as it was a few months ago, but rather leaves me with a aching reminiscence of how things have changed. Some vitality that I've lost and wish to get back. My mind doesn't fix on any one memory, rather I let them slip by like a silent film on fast forward, a confused jumble of colours and shapes, the people I've lost.

My tea is still too hot but I take a sip anyway, the liquid scalding all the way down my throat. It's better than an alarm, it wakes me up instantly from my dark nostalgia and I shake my head, as if physically rejecting the memories will banish them from my mind. I need to do something productive so I don't fall into the trap door of the past, an easy thing to do after seeing Jacob.

The problem is that it's a weekend, there's no work to distract me, and the urgency of finding a place that occupied my time off is over, since I moved in to my new apartment two weeks ago. There's almost nothing in it though, and I really should use my day off to get at least some of the necessities. Taking my phone out, I open a note page and title it "Shopping List". The cursor blinks expectantly at the top of the empty page. I need virtually everything, but in my current mood nothing seems important.

Jotting down a couple of kitchen things and some furniture, I make my way back out into the crowded streets, but instead of heading toward the shops I walk to my apartment. I feel a stab of guilt that I'm not going to accomplish anything this afternoon, then rationalize that I need the break, even if it's spent sitting on the floor with my laptop, one of the very few things that I've unpacked. I turn off the raucous main road onto a quieter, but no less dirty, side street. It's the end of the afternoon and garbage is piled along the side of the road, the smell of rot mixing with the gritty humid air. The door to my building is always getting stuck, I have to push against the grate before it gives way to the cramped narrow staircase inside.

I can take in both tiny rooms of my studio apartment in one glance and wait for the usual swell of gratitude at being in a place of my own, but my mood is too black to let in anything else. I'm exhausted by every effort I've made since leaving Jacob, dark thoughts are piling up and pushing out any positive ones. Right now all I want is to lose myself in a movie, anybody else's fiction to block out the relentless weight of reality. I stare at the flickering screen, unable to concentrate on what's going on, but at least it's drowning out my whining inner monologue.

The end of the movie comes as a surprise. The clock tells me that two hours have passed, which I never would have guessed. I'm feeling much calmer as I get up and stretch my stiff limbs. My apartment is bare, no furniture and nothing on the walls, all I have are a few boxes buried in tape. There are pictures inside the smallest one but I'm unable to open it, the vivid timelessness of an image like a blunt knife to the heart. And Jacob is looking out of those pictures too, mementos of a different time.

It's still early but I can't deal with any more of today. Filling up my water glass, I wash down a sleeping pill. I curl up on the mattress, but sleep is gradual and as the unconscious takes over, images and memories swirl around my head in a confused web of colliding realities. Jacob is Matt and we're in a house near the water, with waves that wash up at night and steal people from their beds, but finally even those thoughts slip away and I'm dead to the world.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone, hope you like the chapter! If anyone wants to give me some feedback on your first impressions of Jacob that would be amazing! Reviews would be so appreciated!**

"Isn't this great?" Lindsay shouts.

I force a bright smile because Lindsay's excited, but I would rather be here at any other time. The blasting music is a far cry from the usual tranquility I find here, up above the streets. It's one of the only places in the city where I can escape the constant noise and press of strangers, to walk in the open air above it all. It's like a taste of another world. I can imagine anything up here, especially on evenings when only a few people are interspersed between benches and shrubbery and the terraces of the pedway. I can picture any reality, and anyone with me.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by the guy behind us; he stumbles into me, and I have to take a step to regain my balance. He brushes his hand against mine, maybe it's intended as an apologetic gesture but I shrink away from him, feeling invaded.

Lindsay glares, "Watch it," she snaps at him.

He turns with interest. Lindsay as her usual laughing self is exciting, but Lindsay when she's fierce is like a lion. She doesn't notice him, she's standing on the toes of her platform heels, trying to see the front of the line that snakes along the upper pathway. Instead of the usual food vendors and buskers, there's an ice-themed party tonight, and we're waiting to get drinks at the bar. We're in a tunneled section of the pathway, enclosed by a roof, with the bar set up along one wall and the already-packed dance floor below. I look towards the gaping hole at the end of the tunnel, where the dimly lit path of the High Line continues in relative solitude, retreating from the pulsating beat of the music and fading away into the black night.

"I think we're almost there," she says, making it sound like a good thing. She slips her arm around me. "Thanks for coming."

She sounds so sincere, I'm immediately guilty for being a stick-in-the-mud. Resolving to try harder to enjoy myself, I give her a quick hug. "Of course, this is fun."

The line moves quickly; there are easily a dozen bartenders, mostly shirtless guys. The bar seems to be lit from within, it's giving off a cold blue glow that reflects off their skin. It makes them look like they're about to come down with pneumonia, the blue sheen reflecting off their chests with a pallid sickly hue. We're within a few feet when one of them picks up a hammer, and smashes it onto the counter. I shrink back, shocked, as pieces fly in all directions.

Gingerly, I rest my palms flat on the translucent surface of the bar, and shiver at the shock of cold. For a moment I'm stuck, the dry ice tugging at my skin like a million tiny hooks, but then I pull free and tuck my hands under my arms to warm them. The guy who bumped into me is ordering a drink next to us. There's a phoenix tattooed on his arm, disappearing under his tight black T-shirt and his dark hair falls into black eyes. He's looking directly at me, mockingly, but I ignore him and turn away.

I take a sip of the drink Lindsay gives me, the liquid burn in my throat distracting me from the crowd of people around us. I quickly drain my glass, the numbness from the alcohol spreading through my body is a relief against my strained nerves. "Want to do a shot?" I ask Lindsay. I know she'll be game, and I've caught the eye of a bartender. Leaning over the bar, I order two for each of us.

"Check you out," Lindsay says with an approving laugh. "What are we drinking?"

"PB & J vodka." The bartender offers her the salt-shaker.

"That sounds disgusting," she says, but she licks the inside of her wrist anyway and sprinkles the salt on. She sends me a daring look and I extend my wrist toward her. Just as her tongue connects with my skin, her eyes widen in surprise; she's looking directly over my shoulder, at something or someone. A wiry body closes in behind me, one arm slides along the bar next to me and I recognize the phoenix.

"Okay," I say, trying not to sound panicky, "okay, I'll just…"

Lindsay grabs his arm and tosses it off me. "Get off her, you jerk." She takes my hand protectively. "Come, Bella," she says, pinning him for a moment longer with a withering look. She tows me through the crowd, away from him. As usual, I'm completely amazed by her, she's so certain and unapologetic. Even when someone is doing something I don't like, I won't definitively reject their action like Lindsay will. I'm too soft, second guessing whether I'm misreading their intentions or trying to escape the confrontation altogether.

"What a creep," she says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Want to dance?"

We make our way through the crowd to the lower level. The sea of bodies is moving in time to the music, as if everyone around me is tied together in a strange ritual, compelled by the pulsing beat. And then I catch sight of him, standing off to the side, watching us. Or watching Lindsay anyway. In my tipsiness he looks like a mirage, everyone else fading away slightly at the edges. He's tall and gorgeous in his comfortably snug jeans and casual white shirt; I only see him for a second but every detail is burned into my mind. Lindsay shouts something to me over the music and I lean in to listen; by the time I look up again he's gone. We're in the centre of the crush now, boxed in on all sides by dancers. I'm unreasonably disappointed, and scan the room, trying to locate him again, but it's dark and crowded and he could be anywhere.

Lindsay has started dancing with a couple of guys; she pulls me in, trying to include me in what I'm sure she sees as just a fun time, but I recoil away from being pushed against a complete stranger. His narrow build and bulky arms feel foreign and uncomfortable, I'm stiff as a board and know I won't loosen up. I back away, giving the guy a tight uncomfortable smile, but he just shrugs and immediately moves in on someone else.

Ice crunches under my stilettos as I weave through the crowd to the edge of the room; a chunk has broken off somewhere and the chips are littering the floor. I keep my eyes on the ground, worried that I might slip, so I don't notice him until he's right in front of me. He's even hotter up close; even in the slightly chilled air I feel myself heating up from his proximity, our eyes lock and his gaze sears into me. I take a reflexive step backward and bump into something, jumping at the sudden shock of ice on my skin. In another moment he's edged past me, his bare arm skimming mine, and as he disappears into the crowd I take in a shaky breath.

A breeze ruffles my hair, blowing off the river, through the windowless arches behind me. The effects of the shots Lindsay and I had are wearing off, the full force of my senses returning; I'm suddenly exhausted, thirsty and a little dizzy. Across the expanse of water, the towers of Jersey City are tiny specks, and seeing the empty, silent space between us, I realize that I'm not ready to be part of this mob of partiers.

Lindsay is dancing with someone else, but when she sees me on my own, she extracts herself. "Want to go?"

"Yes, but you should stay," I say apologetically. Lately it seems like I can never engage in anything that's fun for Lindsay, I feel like such a bad friend. I should have told her I wasn't able to go out tonight, then she might have brought someone else and had a good time with them. But Lindsay doesn't look disappointed and she brushes my suggestion aside.

"No, I'm ready to go too. Let's walk home."

"That would be great," I say, relieved to be able to agree to something and really mean it.

It's easier to go out the back way, the crowd is more dispersed on this side, and it only takes us a couple of minutes to reach street level. We walk in silence for a few blocks. We pass storefronts that have been locked up for hours, mannequins and furniture looming out of the darkness: the forbidding occupants of otherwise empty rooms. A gothic candelabra dangles down from the rafters of a home store; in the dim light, its many arms cast shadows off the objects around it. The rug hanging behind it is beautiful, just visible through the window, its abstract patterns composed of colours that I never would have imagined together, playing off each other perfectly. It's a place Lindsay and I have gone into many times, to admire and covet since we can't afford any of it. When Lindsay was buying stuff for her apartment, we would come here for ideas and then she'd scour cheap stores, or pick through second hand shops to find something similar. I don't have that kind of eye for design nor the patience for never-ending shopping, so I figure I had better hit some affordable places where I can pick up a lot of things at once.

"When are we going furniture hunting?" Lindsay asks, reading my mind.

"I meant to go on Saturday," I say, my voice tentative. I wish that Lindsay and I had explored shops and decorated my place for the whole weekend. Instead, I had spent one ineffectual hour in a generic store, eventually getting a handful of cheap appliances so that I wouldn't go home empty-handed. Jacob was on my mind after the run, and all the feelings I had rolled up and hidden away were unraveling me. By the end of the weekend my new apartment was crowded not with furniture, but with ghosts, fantasies that I couldn't seem to turn off.

Lindsay links her arm through mine. I can tell that she knows we're near a subject that will be difficult for me, and she'll let me be the one to start it. I'm not sure I'll be able to right now; my skin feels coated in liquor and sweat from being sandwiched up against everyone, my personal space invaded enough for one night. Instead, I concentrate on the toes of my boots, one foot in front of the other, and ask her the first question I can think of. She carries the conversation from there, moving from one inconsequential subject to the next, her carefree tone belied by frequent worried glances in my direction.

"Are you coming to the opening for the new show tomorrow?"

It takes a moment for Lindsay's question to sink in, and when I look up, I'm surprised that we're already on Canal Street, a block from my apartment. "Of course I'll be there."

Lindsay has a thoughtful expression on her face. "You know that guy you were eye-flirting with tonight? I'm sure I've seen him at the gallery. I think he's a buyer."

"What guy?" I ask in surprise.

"He almost bumped into you when you left the dance floor." We're approaching a subway station, Lindsay hugs me goodbye with a promise to text when she gets home. I walk the last few blocks toward home, my nerves tingling at the thought of him. I'm surprised that from the crush of people, I know exactly who she's talking about, although I suppose Lindsay noticing him as well is an indication of how hot he was. I shiver unexpectedly as I remember our brief look, and the way my skin heated up as it brushed against his.

As soon as I bolt my door I head straight to the shower, pausing only to strip my clothes off before stepping under the steaming spray. I lather the soap until I'm coated in bubbles, the fragrant scent saturating my nostrils as the water pours over my skin. I try not to pay attention, but I can't ignore the bruises that have faded to a shadow on my wrists and ankles. The water no longer feels like a cleansing shower but a crushing waterfall and I back away, trying to suppress my panic. Images flash through my mind, and a wave of numbness; the lack of control, the darkness inside so impenetrable that I would have tried anything, no matter how dangerous. The pent-up fear that I couldn't feel before is rolling over me now and I huddle at the edge of the spray, suds of soap dripping off me.

I wrap a towel tightly around myself and breathe deeply, willing myself to think about something else, eyes open so that my imagination can't take me down any dark paths. The towel doesn't stave off the chill creeping over my still-damp skin, and as I calm down I start to shiver. With the shower turned off and the steam beginning to dissipate, I'm starting to feel silly. My reflection, distorted in the fogged-up mirror, is wide-eyed and pale. Turning my back on it, I quickly pull on a fresh cotton t-shirt and leggings.

Amber liquid splashes up the inside of the glass as I pour myself a drink, the bottle trembling slightly in my hand. I sit back against the wall and take a sip, determined to focus on the positive and enjoy being alone in my apartment. I would take no furniture any day, over living with my mom or in dorms. The feeling of being in my very own space is so new that even simple things, like sitting here and not having to talk to anyone, can be a novelty. I run my hands over the freshly swept floorboards, picturing what else I want to get. It's going to take awhile since I didn't have anything when I moved back to New York, and I can only afford to buy a couple things at a time. I've already been picturing the sunniest corner with a loveseat in it, and maybe a tall bookcase next to it for the case studies, textbooks and novels that are still stacked in boxes along the walls. I take another sip, imagining the possibilities.


	4. Chapter 3

By the time I get home from work the next day it's 7:30 and I'm running late for Lindsay's show. I flip through my dresses until I land on my favourite, a sleeveless raw silk sheath that cinches at the waist. It swings lightly and the blue-grey fabric shimmers, reminding me of the neon lights from last night, that shone murkily through thick slabs of ice. Snatching up some sparkly earrings, I look in the mirror; my eyes look tired, my skin still too pale. I do my best, smoothing another layer of concealer on, and root around for my blush.

Normally I would walk, but tonight I flag a cab. Watching the sheer stone façades of SoHo melt into the warmer brick of the Meatpacking District, I try to relax, except I'm a bundle of nerves. Jacob lives in one of these brick flats, but I've never been to his apartment, I don't even know which building it is. Whenever I'm in the area I find myself scanning the street for a glimpse of him, half-hoping I won't have to go through the churn of emotions he always brings on, my heart stopping with disappointment every time I see a shaggy blond head and it isn't him.

It's worse in the days after I see him, when the desire to be near him is more intense. Maybe it would be easier to cut him out of my life completely, except the same history that makes it hard to be with him also makes him as close as anyone can be, and impossible for me to let go. The idea of never seeing him again makes me unbearably lonely. It's not only my feelings for him. He's the closest tie I have to Derrick's memory, and no matter how difficult it is to be confronted in such a tactile way with his absence, I can't stand the thought of walking the trail of memories by myself.

I look up at the shuttered windows of a flat, the warm glow of lights seeping through, and wonder whether he's going to show up tonight. I tried texting him an hour ago and haven't gotten a response yet. Butterflies have invaded my stomach, and I keep having to stop myself from picking at a chip in my nailpolish. The uncertainty of not knowing whether I'll be seeing him has me on edge.

There are a few people at the entrance when I arrive, crowded around the display in front of the gallery. The brick wall that spans the front of the building is protected by a sheet of glass, and there's a piece from the new exhibition behind the panes. I get out of the cab and walk up behind them, I have to stand on tiptoes to see over the shoulder of the man in front of me. As soon as I get a glimpse I wish I hadn't: a grotesque warped image, hot and cold colours clashing into each other, with a larger-than-life human form, hanging contorted in the centre. Concerned about what the rest of the show will be like, I hurry inside, wanting to get it over with. The narrow entry hallway has scuffed, puce green walls with no decorations, and if I hadn't been here countless times before, I might have thought I had taken a wrong turn. Ahead of me, lights are flickering weirdly through the open doorway.

The walls are covered with more paintings like the one at the entrance, people in strange contorted positions. The strobing lights are roving the room like searchlights, it only makes it harder to spot Lindsay and the whole thing has a headache forming at my temples. I'm just about to text her when I spot her across the room. A beam crosses Lindsay and I realize that it's a projection of the paintings, the contortions leaping from person to person. Her normally pretty features are distorted by the shadow of some hideous figure.

"Hi! Thanks for coming," Lindsay says, hugging me.

"Of course." I give her a kiss on the cheek. "Kind of a dark show you have happening."

"I know, it's weird and depressing," she says, though with a certain enjoyment, giving a cursory look around the room. "Some friend of the owner. This isn't her style, I think she's doing him a favour."

"How long is it on for?" Lindsay's work environment is great, she's usually surrounded by beautiful and interesting art, but this would disturb me.

"We're only running it a couple of nights, and then I'll put something else up." A woman taps on Lindsay's shoulder to get her attention, so I make my way toward the next exhibit by myself. There's another short hallway leading to the largest space, and Lindsay has hung a few new paintings here, the vivid colours contrasting against the rough, exposed brick walls. One of them catches my eye and I walk closer, caught up in bold lines organically unfurling in a sensual mix of hot reds, oranges and golds.

"Interesting, isn't it," says a voice beside me. I glance over and my skin tingles in anticipation. He isn't touching me but I can sense his body, just a few inches away.

"Hi," I say, excitement thudding unbidden in my chest. I was completely tipsy the first time I saw him, and I had assumed his hotness was exaggerated by my state of mind that night. One glance tells me that I wasn't embellishing anything. He is exactly as gorgeous as I remembered, only now that he's in front of me, he's impossibly magnetic. It's more than the change of clothes; he's not just a good-looking guy at a bar anymore, he seems aloof, unapproachable.

He ignores my greeting and steps past me. He's not so casual today, dressed in slim charcoal pants and a button-down shirt. "What do you think?" he asks, turning back to face me. I'm caught in his gaze, the spotlight over the painting catching and illuminating the golden flecks in his cool green eyes. His focus on me is so all-encompassing that every question and response, no matter how trivial, seems significant.

I'm completely blanking on what he asked, something about the painting. I glance at it again, trying to think of something to say. "It's raw and sensual, she reminds me of a more abstracted Georgia O'Keefe." My blush deepens, knowing I'm failing miserably at sounding like I'm unaffected by being near him.

"You enjoy art," he says. I touch my throat in an unconscious effort to get the words out, while I'm under his intense scrutiny.

"Yes, I love beautiful things."

"So do I." His voice is intimate, it feels like we're the only two people here, even though the hallway is cramped and people are squeezing past us. I can't remember why I was embarrassed a moment ago. "It was nice to see you again," he says, stepping back and abruptly ending our short conversation. The dismissal is like a shock of ice water and it sends my pulse skidding. I'm left standing by myself in front of the voluptuous painting, unsurprised that I lost his attention but still, wondering what I did wrong.

The next door leads to the black and white installation. The unexpected darkness is blinding. I'm surrounded by the subdued rustling of clothes, nobody is talking but they make noise anyway, there's breathing around me and someone nearby lets out a stifled cough. A low drone has been building in volume, I can feel my nerves tightening into anxiety with the grating sound, and I look around with eyes wide open, straining to see something through the darkness. A flash of movement deeper in the room catches my attention. I take a step forward and trip over something, reaching out instinctually to keep from falling. I find myself with a handful of something soft yet bristly, almost like hair.

"I'm sorry," I say automatically. My voice sounds loud in the near-silence and then a bright light powers on, glaring right into my eyes. There's a bird lying on a pedestal in front of me. Horrified, I release the handful of feathers without thinking, and they scatter on the floor. The relentless drone is overwhelmed by the deafening cackle of crows, and then the light starts to flicker as more birds flap overhead, circling and diving, their shadows breaking over the crowd then reforming against the wall. It's another projection, film footage playing off an old reel.

I gasp as someone wraps their arms around me from behind. Whirling around, I laugh in relief when I come face to face with Lindsay.

"Scared?" she teases me.

"The mood has definitely been set. I probably damaged the installation." I worriedly point to the scattering of black feathers on the ground.

"How did you manage to grab that in a dark room?" Lindsay asks, and I'm relieved by the laughter in her voice. "You are the queen of klutzes."

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling terrible, but Lindsay brushes away my apology.

As we emerge back into the lighted hallway, she says, "I came to find you earlier but you were talking to Edward. It looked like an intense conversation."

Intense for me, but obviously not for him. The rejection stings as I remember how he approached me and then walked away. I couldn't seem to even string two words together, even when he asked me a question. "I was completely tongue-tied."

Lindsay studies my face. "He seems to have gotten under that impenetrable skin of yours."

"I wish I was unaffected by everything, but you're my best friend, you know I'm the opposite." I shake my head ruefully. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to cross the street without feeling something about it."

"But you hide them," Lindsay says earnestly, ignoring my exaggeration. "I don't think you realize how little people can tell about what's going on with you."

"These days, it's better if nobody knows how I'm feeling." I hope she's right. Spreading my unhappiness to everyone around me is a constant worry, I imagine that my black mood is emanating out, like I'm a contaminant. My brief conversation with Edward took my mind off the weight that's always fighting to pull me down, his attention like a shield that had momentarily kept reality at bay. It was nice, a bit euphoric, to feel that unexpected lightness. "He's terrifyingly attractive," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. Lindsay laughs.

"Edward is hot, you should go talk to him again."

We could chat all evening but Lindsay has to talk to everyone else too, and I don't want her to feel like she has to babysit me. I give her a tight hug. "It's been a great show, but I should head out."

I loiter near the entrance for a couple of minutes, telling myself it's because I'm debating whether I should take a cab home. Jacob was haunting my thoughts as usual when I arrived, but he's nowhere to be seen. I'm still hoping he'll show up; not that he's ever been the most reliable guy, and not that he owes me anything, but I did think he'd come. And I wanted to see him. The painful tug in my chest isn't exactly the same as missing Derrick, it isn't the hopeless longing for something I can't have, I just wish he had dropped by.

I have to admit though, encountering Edward has made Jacob's absence less disappointing. Even though nothing happened, it still prevented me from spending the evening looking for someone who's not here. A group of people jostles me as they pass, shrugging into their coats as they head for the door. One of the girls is telling her friends how scary the bird exhibit was, but she's obviously excited about it, whereas the thought of that rustling in the dark fills me with discomfort.

I'm about to leave when I see Edward again. I'm not sure whether I should stop to say goodbye or walk out the door, until I notice that he's talking to a girl. I surreptitiously peek over at them, she's reaching out and touching him while she talks, stepping closer to him so that they're only a gesture away from an intimate embrace. I don't look away soon enough, and Edward's eyes rise to meet mine. He says something to her but his eyes never leave mine, and I stumble into someone in my distraction.

"I'm sorry," I apologize to the couple I bumped into. When I look back, Edward's gaze is no longer on me. I push back against my disappointment, and out the heavy front doors.


	5. Chapter 4

An articling student is waiting by my desk, looking seriously stressed as I try to finish up a statement of claim. It's taking longer than expected, and I feel bad for the student; I understand, I was in the middle of that crazy workload only a few months ago. I tell her I'll drop it off myself, the courthouses are on my way home anyway.

There's a long line before I can file it with a clerk, but standing in the atrium, I'm filled with the awe and sense of responsibility that drew me to law in the first place. The heavy stone arches and vaulted ceiling have a timeless quality, a tangible reminder of what justice has meant to our country. The gleaming black floor stretches under the dome, hazy half-formed reflections flickering across it as people hurry past. The statement of claim is tucked safely into a manila envelope, but I grip it tightly, lost in thought.

My phone buzzes with a text from Lindsay, snapping me out of my reverie.

_Guess who called me_

_?_

Lindsay sends me an indecipherable emoticon, the face is either excited or furious.

_Have you been role-playing again?_

_It was Edward!_

Nervousness and desire shoot through me in equal measure, and a brief hope flickers that he was trying to reach me.

_New commission on the horizon? _

_He was asking about a painting he saw the other night, and then he asked for your number. Pin that down, he is seriously hot!_

When I come out of the courthouse an hour later, I'm still wondering if Lindsay was confused about what Edward was asking for. It's much easier to believe that I imagined the interest he showed me. But then my phone rings and I answer, anticipation thrumming through me at the unfamiliar number.

"Is this Isabella?"

The voice is cool and business-like, probably work related, or a loose end to do with my recent move. I relax, disappointed. "Yes, can I help you?"

"This is Edward. We spoke at the gallery."

My nerves flip back on as if they were operated by a switch. "I remember." My voice isn't nearly as smooth as I would like, hopefully he won't notice. I take a quick drink of my latte.

"I would like to see you again."

I'm startled by his directness. There was a general rule, I had thought, that had to do with waiting. Wait to call, make plans a few days in advance, I'm pretty sure it all has to do with not seeming overeager. Edward's expectation that I'll be immediately available just makes him seem more in control, like he can break any rule he chooses. "Umm sure, when?" I ask.

"Why don't you come to Central Park in an hour?" His voice is low and velvety, the tone is persuasive and makes me want to agree to anything.

"Today?" I stammer.

I sound so uncertain compared to his complete confidence. There's a momentary silence at the other end and I instantly wonder if I've misunderstood him, but then he says, "Yes, unless you have other plans."

"I can come." My reply is probably too quick, and I realize that I've agreed even though I'm out with my laptop and all my things, I'll have to go home first.

"I'll be waiting for you at the Boathouse."

"Okay, see you then." He hangs up and I shove everything into my bag, heart pounding.

I race home, taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time. I'm agitated at the thought of meeting Edward, and despite my rush to get there, I stand blankly in front of my clothes, wondering what to wear. I'm completely intimidated by him, which makes me want to wear something nicer, but I definitely don't want to overdo it, especially when I'm meeting him in a park. Finally I settle on a short summery skirt and blouse with wedges.

Central Park is packed, it's one of the first really warm days of the year and there are crowds of people taking advantage of the heat. Families are crowded around picnics blankets and couples are holding hands, lounging on the grass or squeezed into pedicabs. I try to relax and enjoy it, but knowing that Edward is on the other side of the bridge is consuming my attention. The closer I get, the more I have the feeling that things are about to get out of my control. I slow my steps as I pass into the shadow of the underpass; this is my last chance to turn back, before Edward sees me and more importantly before I'm caught up in him.

Underneath the heap of flattery and excitement that Edward asked me out, is the nagging reminder that going on a date is the last thing I should be doing right now. I'm emotionally fragile, which I'm sure is a recipe for dysfunction. And after my experience with Matt I can think of a million reasons why I'm not ready to be dating. I rummage through my bag, searching for my phone to call Edward and tell him I can't make it, then change my mind and call Lindsay instead.

"Tell me why I should go see Edward," I say as soon as she picks up.

"He's ridiculously hot," Lindsay replies matter-of-factly. When I don't respond, she asks, "What are you thinking about?"

"I shouldn't meet him."

"Yes you should," Lindsay says with certainty, "it's just one harmless date, and you can leave anytime."

"I guess so," I say, still filled with misgivings about potentially opening myself up to vulnerability. "Maybe I'm just being insecure."

It isn't the first time I've felt this way, but this is different: I'm not so naive and certainly not as reckless. When Matt first approached me, I had watched him close in, his sharply handsome face concentrated on me, his lithe movements almost predatory. I had the feeling then that I was about to be eaten alive, and every self-destructive impulse reverberating in my body at that moment responded.

As I walk up the hill to the Boathouse, Edward comes into view. He's watching me approach with an aloof expression which is completely intimidating. It's unnerving and I might have walked right past him, assuming his impassivity is due to a lack of interest, except that he contacted Lindsay and asked me here. It's hard to believe that someone so hot would try to pursue me.

"Isabella," Edward says.

"Hi," I reply shyly. I look down at my hands, then drop them to my side as I realize that I'm twisting the strap of my purse, twirling it around and around my finger in a nervous gesture. I look back up into Edward's green eyes, startled by the depth of them; they sparkle with an intensity and awareness, that makes me sure he's taken in every minute action I've made since he caught sight of me coming up the hill.

"Let's have a drink on the patio first," he says, leading me between the gates. Maybe he thinks I need to be loosened up, and he wouldn't be wrong. His fingertips are only brushing my waist, as he smoothly guides me past the people waiting around the entrance, my response to his touch is electric.

I linger behind Edward at the edge of the seating area as he speaks with someone about a table. This is the first time I've been here, I gaze out at the lake that laps right up against the edge of the patio, at the rowboats on the sun-dappled water. It's such a delightfully pastoral scene. A few people have parasols for protection against the late afternoon sun, and most of them are drifting lazily along. One solitary rower is slicing his paddles through the water, pushing toward the opposite bank. Caught in the moment, I forget that I'm standing by a pool of water, and step to the edge to admire the scene.

Someone behind me steps backward and bumps into me. I teeter precariously and my stomach jolts like I'm on a ride. Waving my arms frantically, I try to catch my balance, the murky green water lurching below me. Panic clouds my vision as I wait for impact, already I imagine the cold depths, the water that will seep into my nose and mouth to suffocate me.

An arm catches me around the waist and I'm pulled flush against Edward's lean, muscular body. For a moment I'm relieved to be on solid ground after my complete terror of falling in. But it's too much; the sudden onslaught of fear and anxiety, the butterflies from being pressed up against Edward, my nervousness about being with him.

Edward releases me and I look up at him. I'm sure my expression is frantic, my emotions too raw, and I'm unable to mask them.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, and turning around, I flee. Half-walking, half-running, I make it all the way to the edge of the park before I collapse against a tree, dragging in ragged breaths. I shouldn't have come, I rebuke myself, like a broken record. I was kidding myself, thinking I could do something as normal as a date.

**Reviews Please! I hope you liked it! What do you think about Edward? It's a little bit of a cliffhanger so I will update again in the next day or two!**


	6. Chapter 5

There's another statement of claim waiting for me at work the next day. I try to focus on the document in front of me, but I'm still replaying yesterday's events over in my mind. It didn't take me long to realize that my behaviour was a complete overreaction, and now I mostly feel embarrassed. And frustrated with myself, because I would still have been a threadbare mess of fear and anxiety, even if I had held it together enough to stay for drinks.

I swivel my chair around as Rachel crashes down in the cubicle next to me with a gusty sigh. "This is not the glamorous law career that I signed up for," she declares, tying her cloud of curls up into a topknot. Her hair is so fine and wispy, that even though she's tried to pull it back severely, little curls are already escaping to delicately frame her face. I give her an affectionate smile. We were hired at the same time, for the purpose of grunt work, and despite her dramatic proclamation I know she does it diligently, even though at times it feels a bit like we're being hazed.

The front desk buzzes that I have a package, and I walk up to the reception area. A small box is waiting for me, enclosed in parchment paper and tied with a coarse string.

"What's that?" Rachel asks curiously, as I sit back down.

I shrug and, taking out a pair of scissors from my top drawer, snip the string. Inside is a gold box with a single truffle, and a handwritten card from Knipschildt Chocolatier. It's a description of the truffle. I've never heard of a Madeleine, but Rachel looks impressed.

"Fancy," she says. I pass her the card and she flips it open, examining the contents. "Who's it from?"

"I'm not sure," I say slowly, "but I have a guess."

I search around, trying to find a note, and finally spot a slip of paper under my chair. It must have fallen when I took the wrapping off.

_Isabella,_

_Something upset you yesterday. Let's try a different location._

_Edward_

I wait all afternoon, for some kind of elaboration from Edward about his cryptic note. My eyes keep on drifting from my computer screen to my phone, and I make sure that the volume is on even though I've already checked it. At first I want to call him but with every minute that ticks by, my resolve wavers. A 'thank you' text seems too flippant, but I don't know what else to say. I'm already at home and out of my office clothes when I get a message with an address, inviting me for dinner tonight.

The high-rise apartment building is next to the World Trade complex. Walking toward the entrance brings me closer to the fenced-in area, still under construction. As always, the sight of it fills me with pride and sadness, at the measures being taken to rebuild what shouldn't have been destroyed. It's like flying in the face of a threat, to resurrect anything on that spot. With heightened emotion, I walk into the lobby, and my adrenaline spikes still further when I catch sight of Edward, standing beside the bank of elevators.

He looks me up and down in a way that feels like a seal of approval, like he enjoys what he sees, rather than a judgement. Stepping into the elevator, he hits 50. My excitement instantly evaporates, there's a bar and restaurant clearly labeled on the second floor. "We're not going to the restaurant?" I ask. My skin is crawling with nervousness, and the sleek glass interior feels like a mirrored cage.

"There's a surprise upstairs." Edward looks at me in concern. "It's harmless, don't worry."

I know I have to calm down, I desperately don't want a repeat of our last encounter, but the recent events in my life haven't left me overflowing with trust. I swallow nervously, trying to slow my racing mind so that I can think more reasonably.

"I have enjoyment in mind for both of us." Edward runs his hands lightly down my arms and I shiver, arousal mixing with trepidation. His green eyes are mesmerizing. "If you don't like what I have planned, you can leave any time, Isabella." I'm sure his comment is a reference to our last meeting, and I feel a hot blush creep up my cheeks.

The elevator doors open and we climb a short flight of stairs, emerging out of the cement stairwell into the pink and orange glow of the setting sun. I look around, blown away by the beauty and the view; we're in the middle of a rooftop garden that looks like it popped out of a fairytale. There are little pathways through riotous beds of roses, poppies, hydrangeas and a million other flowers. It looks wild and exotic, with the backdrop of the city spread out below us.

"You said that you love beautiful things, and to me, this is the most beautiful place in New York," Edward says, looking out over the city. "I want to show you something." We walk down a little path that's dense with low flowering trees and foliage. I wet my lips nervously, a thrill shooting through me as his eyes linger on my mouth and I think he might kiss me.

"Close your eyes," he instructs me. My eyes flutter shut, and my heart's in my throat when I'm suddenly tugged forward. His hands are on my waist and I run my palms over his chest and across his shoulders. I skim my fingers along the edge between skin and fabric, enjoying the intensified sensations with only touch to guide me. His lips brush my ear and he says, "Turn around."

As soon as my back is to him, he takes my hands and guides them to a cool bar of metal. I can feel one of his legs between mine, and the rock solid length of his torso firmly behind me. He smoothes my hair into a loose ponytail, clasping it in his hand, and trails his fingers along my neck. At the direct contact, my eyes open and for one terrifying moment, I think I'm about to fall off the roof. The ground, hundreds of feet below me, seems to tilt and I gasp for air.

"Edward," I say, panicked and frozen in place.

"It's perfectly safe." His voice is low and calming. "We're behind a glass rail."

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to take a few slow breaths, before I open them again. Far below, traffic is streaming by; the ebb and flow from the changing stoplights is visible from up here. I'm mesmerized by the bustle in miniature, and without thinking I lean forward. As soon as I look down the sheer glass wall of the building, I gasp and back away. Edward isn't behind me anymore, he's stepped over to lean on the rail. He's totally unperturbed by the sight, on the contrary he seems to be enjoying it. When he turns toward me there's an intimate smile on his face, like he's just shared a secret with me.

He looks down at me, directly into my eyes. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thanks," I manage to say.

There's a table tucked in a corner of the garden, just close enough to the edge to retain the spectacular view. A much nicer view, from this angle the streets below us are invisible. All we can see is the tops of the taller buildings, and the harbour in the distance. He's watching me as he pours us each a glass of wine. My whole body feels hot, I can hear the blood pounding through my veins, but the glass is wonderfully cool against my swollen lips.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

The wine is mixing with the intensity of my attraction and the result is heady. "It's exquisite."

"You're exquisite."

I duck my head, not sure how to respond to such an exaggerated compliment, and train my eyes on the wine sparkling in my glass. This whole experience seems strange and surreal. Something must have registered on my face because Edward tips my head up, gently but in such a way that I could never have resisted, until I'm looking directly at him, then he skims his fingers down the inside of my pale arm. His fingers are long and elegantly tapered, and he's taking a slow exploration, as if every inch of skin is worthy of attention and an instrument for arousal. His teasing touch arrives at the crease in my arm and I shiver.

Holding my gaze, he relaxes back in his chair. "Do you enjoy your work?"

I'm trying to detach from my fantasies so that I can answer his question, but I'm captivated by his mouth, wondering what it's like to kiss him. I wet my own lips self consciously, wondering if he knows I can't focus on the conversation because of how attractive he is. "I just started at a law firm," I manage to say. Edward is still listening to me expectantly so I elaborate. "It's all I've been working towards and I feel like I'm kind of arriving at my destination."

"Don't worry, you're just beginning," Edward says, as if he already knows exactly what I want, and how to get it. "Did you complete law school here?"

"Yes, for my undergrad. Then Boston," I say, memories of my articling, or rather how my articling ended, swarming my mind. The pubs I went to on my few days off with friends were loud and dirty and usually ended with somebody in a fight. The rest of the time I was studying non-stop in my dorm, trying to block out the near-constant noise, and the confusing new loneliness that came with living away from my family for the first time. And the evening I met Matt, when I had assumed he was a student as well. He bought me a drink and we chatted about academic research; that night I never would have guessed how literal he was being when he said he enjoyed experimenting with the cutting edge. Now, even just sitting with Edward in this romantic garden, I find myself tensing up. I had been at my darkest, but even so, I have to wonder what it was inside myself that embraced such a dangerous situation.

"You're very serious." It seems like he's saying it in disappointment. I raise my chin.

"Yes," I say a little defiantly.

A door slams behind us as a waiter emerges, carrying our first course. "What are we eating?" I ask.

"Try it, tell me what you think."

I tentatively put a little bite in my mouth, it's rich and pungent but I force myself to swallow.

"You don't like it, they'll bring something else." He doesn't wait for a response, and the waiter, who is still hovering near the table, takes my plate. I'm relieved when a few minutes later he comes back with a pasta dish.

"Tagliatelle with white truffle," the waiter says, as he places it in front of me. It looks simple but the aroma is intoxicating, more of a sensation than a flavour.

I have to muster up the courage to say, "How about you? You haven't told me anything about yourself."

"What is it you would like to know?" The tone of his voice makes me feel like a lot of questions may be off-limits. I concentrate on twirling another bite of noodles, trying to think of something that won't come across as fishing for information.

"What do you do? For work, I mean?" I ask clumsily.

"The same thing as you."

"You're a lawyer?" I ask, startled, and a small smile plays across his lips at my reaction.

"You'd be surprised how much we have in common."

Judging by my encounters with Edward, he seems to have an affinity for surprises, though I suspect only for giving them. He doesn't seem like someone who would let himself be in the dark for any length of time, which I would understand. I don't like the unexpected either. Any kind of surprise experience has been ruined for me; I react poorly to not having any control over a situation, and not knowing what's going to happen next. Yet here I sit, willing to subject myself to one unknown after another. I study him over my wine glass, wondering what else he knows about me. "When do I get to find out this secret information?"

"Not secret," he says, "just interesting coincidences."

He doesn't elaborate, so I leave it at that, not wanting to ask for information that I know I'll be denied. But I wonder what similarities he could be talking about, since we don't seem anything alike.

When we finish our meal, Edward doesn't linger. He stands up, and I follow him down to the lobby. His quick and efficient exit is like a dismissal. At dinner he seemed to be implying that we would see each other again, but our evening has ended abruptly. Maybe it's for the best, the tension and uncertainty of seeing Edward is a strain, but even as the thought crosses my mind I know it's a weak excuse.

"I should go," I stammer, stepping back. Edward is the embodiment of confidence and down here, in the reality of the busy street, it's making my own nervousness glaringly obvious. He runs his palm down the back of my hand and laces his fingers between mine, grazing his mouth along my cheekbone until his lips are touching my ear.

"Goodnight Isabella."

I want to stay like this, our skin touching, but in a moment he's dropped my hand and I make myself turn and walk away.

**Reviews Please! I want to know what you guys think!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Hi everyone! I just wanted to say thanks to Tarbecca for recommending Vespers on A Different Forest. If any of you haven't read the blog she posted on the website you should check it out, because she made some other great fanfic picks! Also thanks for all the reviews and feedback you guys gave me this week it was awesome!**

**This chapter is pretty tense, and as usual lots of unresolved feelings. I hope you enjoy (:**

My phone starts ringing as I'm walking down the steps into the subway. I rummage through my purse, wondering if I have time to go back to ground level to take the call. Probably not, I'm already running late for an appointment, but when I see Jacob's name on the screen I decide to pick up.

"Are you busy?"

"Umm… sort of, what's up?" Across the street, the market at Union Square is in full swing. Vegetables are stacked in cheerful piles of color, and heritage meats, strung up with twine, hang from under the nearest tent.

"Do you want to have coffee?"

I don't give myself time to overthink my response. "I'm outside the subway now, where do you want to meet?"

"Actually, are you free in a couple of hours?"

"Oh, sure." I wish I hadn't agreed so quickly, I feel completely irresponsible for being ready to rearrange everything at a moment's notice for him.

By the time I approach the café, I've had quite a while to imagine why he wants to see me or what he might want to talk about. The room is long and narrow, brightly lit by the wide front windows, but shadowy toward the back, the dark timber walls giving an impression of walking deep under a canopy of trees. Circular slabs of log make up the countertop, they're shining with an unnatural varnish that makes the grain stand out sharply. I trace one finger around a thin pale ring, right around the heart, of a tree that must have been hundreds of years old.

I've reached the front of the line and order my drink, then make my way to a shelf of magazines while I wait. I try to read the headlines, but I'm so wired that I skip to the next one before what I've read sinks in. Finally, I decide to wait at a table in the back, where it's quieter, but I've barely passed the cashier when I stop in my tracks. Jacob is lounging at one of the tables, it looks like he's been here for awhile. Across from him is a very tall, very beautiful girl, her long legs stretched out under the table, one knee rubbing against his. He wraps his hand around her neck and kisses her, cutting her off mid-sentence, I want to watch but at the same time hate to see it.

"Latte for Bella," the barista calls out and I turn toward the coffee bar, relieved.

"Hey. Have you been here long?" Jacob asks, coming up next to me.

I'm completely flustered, a blush already staining my cheeks. I don't answer right away because I'm losing the battle of juggling my keys, the latte and an armful of files. "Just long enough to get a coffee," I manage, then can't help but flush again as images of Jacob kissing someone crowd my mind. A couple folders slip through my grasp.

"I'll get them," he says, we both crouch down and the first contact between our bodies leaves me with a low throbbing ache. I get a better grip on everything and take a few precautionary steps away from him.

"Thank you," I begin, but then I bump into someone behind me. Turning to apologize, I freeze, my whole body stock-still, and then I seem to come to life again, my heart racing to catch up the lost beats. Edward is looking down at me, his gaze burning hot. Not a hint of a smile is touching his perfect lips as his attention settles on Jacob. I half-turn, intending to introduce them, or make an excuse, or something, but Jacob isn't looking at me either.

"Jacob, this is Edward, uh, Edward… this is a coincidence," I finish nervously.

"Not especially," Edward replies coolly, "these are the law courts and we're both lawyers."

"Oh," I stammer. I wrack my mind for something to say. "Do you have time to join us for coffee?" As soon as it's out of my mouth I wish I could take it back. I hadn't expected Edward to stay, but he nods briefly.

"A few minutes. Enough time to get to know your friend." I'm probably overreacting but it sounds like a threat. His hand is extended to shake but Jacob slaps it casually.

"Hey, man. Take a seat."

The air is palpably frigid between the two of them, as Edward sits on the chair nearest me. I take a sip of my drink, unsure what to say or do. Sitting between them is incredibly uncomfortable, I can't think of a single topic of conversation that would interest both of them.

"Are you in court?" I ask.

"Yes. I have to get back." We sit in awkward silence, me wishing more than ever that I could have played it cool.

"What does Jacob do?" Edward finally breaks the silence, directing the question at me.

"That's a good question," I say with a nervous laugh, "Jacob, what do you do?" As soon as the words are out, I feel mean. The question sounds jeering, though I didn't intend it that way at all.

"Don't pay attention to Bella, she thinks I spend all my time dating other women," Jacob says.

"I don't think that's the sort of occupation Isabella meant."

Jacob puts his hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket and tips his chair back precariously. "Sure it was. It's her way of saying she cares," he says mockingly.

Edward stands up, his eyes only on me as if Jacob didn't exist. "Are you here for a case?"

"I - no, I just came to meet Jacob," I admit, berating myself as soon as the words cross my lips for my inability to tell a white lie. Jacob's eyes are flickering between my discomposure, hunched over my coffee, and Edward who owns every situation.

"I see." He finishes his drink and sets it down. "Goodbye, Isabella." He sounds cool and detached again. My head is shouting at me to ask when we're going to see each other again, or at least I could walk with him to the door, but his seriousness is making him more intimidating than ever, and before I can work up the courage he's gone.

"New boyfriend?" Jacob asks, slouching back in his chair.

"I don't think so." I try to match his laid-back attitude but this whole situation is making me tense, my shoulder muscles are in knots and I can feel a pounding headache starting at my temples. Thinking of the girl Jacob had been sitting with I ask, "You?"

"No, most guys don't seem to be into me for some reason."

"Thanks for leaving some for the rest of us." I attempt a laugh, but it sounds forced. His lips turn up at the edges in a smirk.

"Anything to help you get a date." Jacob knows how to bring out my competitive side every time. I reach over and help myself to his food.

"I think it's safe to say I don't need your assistance on dates." I take a bite and lick the salt off my fingers. He raises his eyebrows.

"We'll see. Are you sure you can keep it interesting?" He offers me another bite. I can't help but feel stung, I ignore his outstretched hand and take a sip of my latte instead. He sits back again, eyes narrowed. "Problem, Bella?"

"Nope. No problem," I lie. I'm searching for the reason that I'm angry with him, and latch on to his unreliability. He said he'd come to the gallery opening. "I just don't think we have the same idea of what 'interesting' is."

Jacob laughs. "I'm pretty sure we do, actually."

"Like not showing up?" I blurt out.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

My head starts to pound in earnest. "Never mind."

"Right," he says sarcastically.

As usual, I can't let him have the last word, I know I'm being unreasonable but now that our trajectory has been set, it's like I'm incapable of not completing. Staring over at the cafe display, I say, "It's nothing, Lindsay just had her gallery thing the other night." I steal a quick glance at Jacob, who looks disbelieving.

"Seriously, that's what this is about? I completely forgot about it."

"Thanks, that makes it so much better." I'm genuinely hurt now. Jacob stares at me and shakes his head slowly, like he can't believe this conversation is happening.

I fish in my purse, I'm sure I have some advil somewhere. "I'm sorry," I say, not even looking at him, "I'm in such a bad mood for some reason." I take out a couple of pills and swallow them.

I wait for him to rub it in that I've admitted to being wrong, but when he finally speaks it's in a placating tone. "I took the subway, want to take it back with me?"

It's getting into rush hour, and we're almost separated a couple of times on the way underground. A train pulls up as soon as we reach the platform, we jostle our way on and I manage to clutch one of the loops. I feel the train jolt and Jacob's hand closes over mine, he's so close that I have to tip my head back to look up at him. I feel a sharp pain in my heart when he takes a step forward, so that we're pressed against each other. It fills me with the usual longing, until I catch the mocking challenge in his eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, meeting his gaze and daring him to push me farther.

"Just testing," Jacob says. "I can't quite picture it."

"Whatever, Jacob," I reply hotly, "I'm sure your imagination is sufficient."

"Yeah, but I want something more tangible," he replies, clearly enjoying getting under my skin.

"I hear you've really been getting around, I doubt you can juggle anyone else," I say bitingly.

His eyes blaze dangerously into mine. I try to turn away but he gives my hair a tug, so that I'm looking up at him again. "Where did you meet him, anyway?"

"Lindsay knows him." The train is probably too packed to move but I try anyway, Jacob is infuriating me and I just want to put some space between us. Instead of letting me go, his hand runs down my back until it's dangerously low.

"Luckily he has better manners than you," I say, knowing as I say it that I'm pointlessly trying to make him jealous. I'm only hurting myself, the knife diging deeper when Jacob's reaction is a cocky smile.

"Don't count on it, sweetheart." Jacob slips his hand into my back pocket as the train rattles around a curve, holding me tight against him. "I might be a jerk, but you're always free to fight back."

I push against him. "Seriously?" I say in disbelief, "what the hell, Jake?"

"Just proving my point."

I can't believe his apparent amusement, he seems to think the whole thing is a big joke. "You can't do that." I try to say it in a flat, neutral voice, so that he knows I'm being completely serious.

"Too bad you won't be able to tell Edward what he can or can't do." Jacob's eyes have suddenly turned cold. "Be careful Bella, you seem to be developing a dangerous taste in boyfriends."

We stare at each other for a long moment, I'm unable to look away. Then the train jolts to a stop and I realize where we are. Hurriedly I pull away from him. "This is me," I say, and get off before he has a chance to say anything else.


	8. Chapter 7

**Thanks tsm0836, ainsley j and BingoFish for leaving reviews! I hope you all enjoy the next chapter, thanks for reading!**

I wake up feeling shaken and claustrophobic. My wrists are itchy, like they were bound by something, and I rub at them, trying to shake off my jumble of emotions. I lie in bed for awhile in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. It's the first day of the long weekend, and I need to spend a few hours at work, writing up something that I didn't finish yesterday. I had planned to sleep in first, but it's no use, I'm completely alert. The covers twisting around my legs feel oppressive, throwing them off I get out of bed.

The first hint of cold morning light is seeping into the graveyard across from the office, the tombstones crumbling, forgotten and decrepit. I've never seen anyone in the graveyard yet, and this early hour is no exception. The dead calm in the middle of the city street, where even at this time there is plenty of traffic, adds to the bleakness. The sense that the only people who walk the rows of narrow pathways, are ghosts of yesterday.

The office is completely quiet when I swipe in; it's a little eerie to be here by myself. But I'm not quite alone. I see an office with a light, on the way to my cubicle. I'm passing by the door when a voice stops me.

"Good morning, Isabella." A thin man with horn-rimmed glasses is sitting behind the desk. I would guess him to be about thirty, and meticulously put together. With his hair perfectly parted to the side and a starched white dress shirt, he looks like a study of the 1950s.

"Hello, Carter," I reply.

"It's nice to have someone else come in," he says, before I have a chance to continue on to my desk.

"Not many people come in on holidays?" I ask, surprised.

"Not this early anyway," he says, with a sociable smile. His look turns strangely intense, I'm disconcerted by the abrupt shift. "I saw you in my apartment building the other day."

"Really?" Taken aback, I wonder for a moment if he lives in the same place as me. I'm sure I've never seen him there before, and I doubt he lives somewhere so shabby.

"You were with someone," he persists. I'm hovering just outside his door, now eager to end this increasingly uncomfortable exchange. Maybe it's my imagination or my introvertedness, but he doesn't seem that friendly anymore.

"I should get to work." I offer him a smile, walking toward my desk before he has a chance to say anything else. Even across the office, though, I keep thinking about that one open door with the light spilling out, like a barrier across the hallway. I'm still wondering what he meant. I'm sure I've only been over to Lindsay's apartment recently, but I suppose I could have been so caught up in a conversation with her, or immersed in my own thoughts, that I didn't notice him. Then I remember Edward, we went on our rooftop date in a residential building. I shiver, creeped out by the thought of Carter watching me during an intimate moment.

I log onto my laptop and start sorting through the documents I'll need, skimming through and making notes. It's satisfying to close each one as I go, like ticking them off a checklist. I'm almost through with reviewing the memorandums by the time the sun is streaming in the window, and I find myself squinting at the screen against the bright glare. Frowning, I turn around to see if there's a better spot, and almost drop my laptop when I see Carter standing right behind me.

"Hi," he says, "doing alright?"

"Carter," I say, unable to keep the unfriendly tone out of my voice, "have you been there long?"

Something about the way he's staring makes me feel like a specimen that's being examined. "Would you like anything from Grab & Go?"

"I'm fine," I say, then for some reason I feel like I should add an explanation. "I'm almost done here. Thanks for the offer."

By the time I emerge back onto the street, it's mid-morning and unseasonably hot. I walk home through the financial district. Without the usual flurry of the lunch crowd, it feels deserted, and the near-empty buildings have an air of neglect. Armed security patrols the doorways, and with nobody going in or out it feels like I'm walking through a police state, past curfew. Up ahead, a lone tour group is making its way past the stock exchange. One woman is snapping photos, and a security guard strides out, signaling her to stop as she fumbles to retract the lens. I walk past them and continue toward home, wondering what I should do with the rest of my day.

Even as I unlock the door to my empty apartment, I'm already antsy and want to leave again. It's so quiet, the stillness stifling. My phone vibrates and I check my text. The jumpiness I've felt all morning shifts to nervous excitement as I read Edward's message.

_I'm g__oing to Long Island to interview a witness, would you like to join me?_

I think about our short dinner on the roof and about how many more hours a trip to Long Island will be. And how I'll be marooned out there, with no easy way out if things don't go well. But I already know that I'm going to take the chance, my heart racing in anticipation as I type my reply.

We arrive at a castle on Long Island a few hours later. The building sprawls out behind the parking lot, the tall stone walls capped in turrets are a perfect backdrop for what can only be a wedding party. There's a group of girls in matching navy taffeta getting pictures taken on the front lawn, while others mill around in tuxedos and gowns.

A flight of steps span the front of the castle, but Edward leads me away from them, around the side until we reach a sloping hill. Grape vines are stretched out before us, clusters of fruit just beginning to peek from between lush green leaves. Edward takes my hand and leads us along a path, between perfect rows of vines. I pick my way carefully after him, watching the ground for roots or other tripping hazards.

All of a sudden the row opens up, and we're in a little grass clearing, with a clear view of the sparkling blue water. The calm, sunny day has brought all kinds of boats out, we could just as easily be holidaying in the Mediterranean as a short drive from my Manhattan apartment. Despite the perfection, it's not an idyllic scene for me. The island has been forever tainted as the backdrop to where Derrick's heavy partying began, on his long lazy summers out here with Emma and Jacob.

"What do we have in the basket?" Edward asks, pulling me back to the present. I peek inside.

"Um, cherries, paté, baguette, Camembert, tiny little grapes..."

"Champagne grapes," he corrects me. Picking one off the stem he offers it to me. I'm so spellbound, trapped in his gaze, that when I bite down I'm surprised by the burst of flavour.

"Thank you," I say, "they're so sweet." When he feeds me the next one I catch the edge of his finger, grazing my teeth so lightly that I'm not sure if he'll even notice. He leans in, so that his lips are brushing my ear, and says softly,

"That was unexpected."

He turns his head, his lips almost on mine, but I quickly duck out of the way. I'm not even sure why, some kind of knee-jerk reaction. Edward gives me a long, smoking hot stare, and then his expression changes slightly and I see a competitive glint in his eyes.

Very slowly and lightly he draws a fiery trail along my inner arm, all the way up to the most sensitive part of my neck. Brushing my hair back, he continues his path along my exposed skin. Without thinking, I shift and rise to my knees in front of him. Tentatively I inch his shirt up, his skin feels so smooth and I can't help but brush my fingers along a little further, my breath catching at the reflexive tightening of his abs. My back arches as he pins my wrists behind me and tugs.

"Let's set up some rules," he says. The thin fabric of my top and sheer bra are all that's between my skin and the possessive sweep of Edward's gaze, and I let out an indecipherable noise as he skims my nipple with his thumb. "Good," Edward says, "I'm glad you agree."

Rules? My mind barely registers the words and I scramble to make sense of where this is going. "All clothes stay on," I gasp, as Edward's thumb grazes my other nipple.

"That sounds like a challenge." He lets go of my wrists and pulls a bunch of grapes out of the basket. He begins feeding them to me again, this time slipping his fingers into my mouth in a torturously slow ritual. When I've finished them all, he stands up; his hard cock, thinly veiled under his trousers, is an inch from my mouth.

"Close your eyes, I want you to guess," he says. I feel him come behind me and put something down on the ground beside us.

"I'll give you a hint," he says in my ear, "it's sweet and creamy." My mouth is parted slightly, I feel the spoon at my lips and then it slips inside my mouth. I focus on the flavour, it's so smooth, maybe a créme brulée. I shiver as Edward's lips touch the nape of my neck. He's leaving a trail of butterfly kisses and then I feel his teeth and he's softly biting me. He doesn't let go and as the seconds pass, even though his teeth are on my neck, the pressure is building between my legs, until I almost can't bear the magnitude of the sensation. He releases me and I gasp, almost collapsing onto the blanket.

"Would you like more?"

"Yes," I pant, and he slips another custardy bite into my mouth.

Edward feeds me the last bite, and then clasps my jaw, turning my head towards him. "You're a little messy." He runs his tongue, ever so slowly, along my lower lip. Then he's in front of me, brushing my hair out of my face, and he drags his fingertips along my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. Then he's kissing me, devouring me, and I put every ounce of my pent-up emotion into this one kiss.

It turns unbearably soft, and suddenly I feel like I'm drowning in him, and in an effort to stay whole, I pull away, dragging in a breath. Edward's hands are still on me, stroking me gently. He stands up. "Let's take a walk."

I have to clutch his hand to steady myself as he pulls me to my feet. I feel dizzy and every nerve ending in my body is lit up. Emerging into a square, hemmed in by hedges, is like coming out of a fog, the haze of lust still confusing my perceptions as the world comes back into focus. Stone walls, pillars and staircases have been arranged into a labyrinth, and there are kids who have obviously escaped the wedding party running around it, their bow ties flying loose, dresses smudged and torn. There's a twisting path and they run along the pattern, trying to reach the center, then working their way back out.

"We're going to meet the witness on the patio," Edward says, gesturing to the tables grouped underneath a large restaurant awning. There are a few more scattered beyond the patio on the flagstones, we choose the farthest one, even though there's nobody around. Sitting in the sunshine, surrounded by metal chairs and the occasional passerby, feels like whiplash after the vineyard. We sit quietly; I'm incapable of conversation right now, and Edward doesn't start any.

The woman who approaches us might have been pretty once, now she looks like life has beat her up. "Mimi, this is Isabella," Edward introduces us.

I respond automatically, trying to hide my reaction. She's almost unrecognizable, but despite how strange the coincidence, it must be her. The features are there, stretched along the bony lines of an anorexic frame, and disguised by spindly bleached hair. Mimi gives no indication that she knows who I am, so I sit back and listen, not wanting to infringe upon the interview. My heart is sick looking at what's happened to her, the last time I saw her she was beautiful and vibrant. I only met Mimi a few times but she had seemed like a sweet person, she was a memorable and refreshing change from the girls who Emma usually hung out with.

I listen as she recounts her story again to Edward. I gather that the conversation has happened a number of times already, but there have been many inconsistencies even in the last few minutes and he's trying to weed out the truth. They go through the night multiple times before Edward brings up the drugs. It's a sensitive subject, she immediately denies knowing where they came from. Her boyfriend got them and had surprised her by cutting lines of coke for them.

"You've never done drugs with Brian before?" Edward asks.

Mimi is looking around distractedly in every direction, unable to focus on Edward for more than a few seconds at a time. I think that she missed the question, a full minute ticks by and I'm wondering why Edward doesn't ask her again. Or tell her they're done for today, she's recounted so much already and she looks lost and anxious, having to go over these experiences over and over.

Finally she says, "We did," then shaking her head, "not that time. I tried to get him to, he said he didn't want any."

"Did the three of you engage in any risky activities that night, other than the drugs?"

A small smile creeps across her face. It only distorts her features by displaying her stained and broken teeth. "Nah, the drugs weren't."

"The autopsy reported that your friend had taken a dangerous combination of alcohol, coke and Ritalin," Edward says. Mimi just stares at him, one chipped tooth visible with her mouth hanging open.

He tries to question why she was on it since she didn't have a medical prescription for Ritalin, Mimi shrugs and gives a flippant response but I don't hear it. I'm frozen, remembering a conversation that Emma and Derrick had once. Or once in my hearing anyways, I hadn't been able to control my anger and fear and had confronted Emma for suggesting it to Derrick, to take Ritalin to help him stay awake. My choked diatribe had met with stony silence, and then they left without responding, their expressions speaking for them: I was a dumb kid, a prude, and unlike them I wasn't any fun. Feeling Edward's eyes on me, I compose myself and refocus on the conversation, which has moved in a different direction.

"You didn't do anything sexually that might be considered unconventional?" Even though Edward is sitting casually, leaning back slightly in his chair, he's dominating the conversation with something like an expectation that people will do his bidding. He never has any visible reaction to her answers, but slowly, question after question, he seems to be narrowing in on new details, or maybe trying to establish consistencies.

"I don't know, we were screwing, you know," Mimi says, "I mean we got rough but not weird toys and shit."

"What would be rough?"

"Something that gets me fucked." Her voice has turned snide and jeering.

"Do you like that?" Edward asks, his eyes piercing hers. "He put you in the hospital seven times."

Mimi's face turns into a mask of anger and she spits out, "You're a fucking con and a liar."

Edward doesn't make any sign that she spoke, pressing on with sudden intensity. "Is that what you wanted? Maybe you were hoping he'd hit you. Were you begging for it? I know you're protecting him, you can't wait for him to -"

"Shut the fuck up! I'm not a sicko, all right?" She's panting, glaring at him. Her attempt at bravado is fading and she visibly wilts, suddenly very small and frail in the oversized lawn chair. "He loves me," she says unconvincingly, pleading with Edward, but he doesn't offer any sympathy.

"He certainly didn't love your friend when he killed her," he says. "We're done for today, Mimi. You know where to find me if you remember anything new."

She doesn't seem to have any argument left in her. When I shake her hand goodbye, she looks right at me for a brief moment. Her bony fingers in mine feel brittle and fragile, so I'm surprised by the strength of her grasp. I almost say something but her eyes are blank, without any recognition. She doesn't remember me at all. I turn away, tears smarting my eyes at what's happened to Mimi, and the harsh reminder that I should have seen it coming in my own brother.

Her sudden volatility surprised me, but it certainly wasn't a shock that she lashed out eventually. If I had been less naive back then, I probably would have recognized the same personality shift that happened in my brother. The change in Mimi is so dramatic, but I'm not sure that wasn't true for Derrick too. It probably seemed gradual because I saw him often, I had time to acclimatize, or to ignore it. Even now I don't know which it was.

"Are you alright?"

I look up to see Edward studying me. There's no way to explain why I'm suddenly upset, not without bringing up subjects that I'm not willing to talk about, so I settle for the simplest explanation.

"I knew Mimi," I say hesitantly. "Not well, but we had a mutual friend, and I met her a few times. Before she was messed up." I look down, willing myself to not be overcome by emotion. I try to focus on how much I don't want to start crying in front of Edward, instead of anything else.

Edward is observing me from a couple feet away. Maybe he can feel the repellent vibes I'm shooting out, because he steps back, saying carefully, "It would be helpful to know what she was like before this."

"I really didn't spend much time with her, she was Emma's friend. That's Jacob's sister," I tack on. "The guy you met in the café." For some reason I find myself blushing.

"I see." Edward pauses, his expression disapproving. "Mimi made some accusations about someone named Emma, though I don't take them too seriously. Most of her inflammatory stories have been baseless."

A cold emptiness is seeping in. My mind is still fixated on my history of glaring mistakes, stupid decisions I should have known better than to make. The last time I felt this way, the choices I made were scary, and underneath the progress I've made is a cavern, still filled with guilt and self-loathing. When it bubbles to the surface I'm afraid of the destructive choices I'll make. I need to get back home, curl up in my bed where I can be alone and safe. I walk past Edward, towards the steps and the exit. "Let's start driving back."

I don't get more than a few feet before he catches my hand and pulls me back. I stare at his chest, not wanting to meet his gaze, which I can feel trained on my face. He captures my cheek and chin, tipping my head back, his mouth on mine, his tongue slipping between my parted lips in an intoxicating kiss.

"It's still early," Edward says, releasing me. "Let's explore first."

The ballroom we step into is elegant with marble, intricately carved molding and sparkling chandeliers, and the wedding reception is in full swing. Seeing the polished hardwood and the platform with a live band, I'm reminded of the first time I saw Edward, on a different dance floor.

"Well Miss Swan, we're crashing a party," Edward says into my ear, "so public yet so anonymous."

Startled, I say without thinking, "How do you know my last name?"

"You told me where you work. I looked you up." Putting his hand on the small of my back, he guides me into the room.

I'm sure it must be a strange and intrusive thing to do, but part of me is tingling with the idea that he was thinking about me while we were apart. "What's your last name?"

"Mason." He levels me with a stare. "Now, have I satisfied your curiosity? I'd like to enjoy the party."

Feeling naive and slightly abashed, I follow Edward over to the bar where he orders us a drink. "Have you ever done this before?" he asks. His look is conspiratorial, and the effect is impossibly charming. I shake my head.

"You?"

"Yes, although it wasn't as innocent as this." The way he says it sounds exciting, full of dark waters that I could lose myself in. The excitement of being out with Edward is getting twisted up in my own dysfunction. My adrenaline is kicking in, I want to do something risky, something that will separate me from the tantalizing moments of happiness I don't deserve. I lean into him, nervous about the direction I'm going but letting recklessness take over.

"Let's watch each other flirt with someone else."

Edward's gaze narrows. "Fine, let's play," he says, and walks away, giving me no chance to respond. I'm left standing alone with my drink, a reminder that there are consequences, especially when I'm not thinking straight.

At the other end of the room, Edward strolls up to a tall, hot blonde and lightly grazes the inside of her wrist with his fingers, murmuring something into her ear. She laughs and flips her hair, leaning in to reply. I wish I could take this stupid idea back. Resting his hand on her lower back, Edward guides her to the bar, right next to a man built like a football player. Making a decision, I steel myself and slide up onto the wooden stool on the other side of him. My attempt at a confident smile feels weak and pathetic as I order a cherry martini. Down the bar, I can hear the tinkling laughter of the blonde with Edward.

"What's your name, darling?" the man asks in a southern drawl.

"Isabella."

He gives me a nod. "Troy. Pleased to meet you."

Across from Troy, Edward isn't paying any attention to us. Determined not to be outdone, I lift the cherry out of my drink and take the plump red fruit into my mouth. I hope I look sultry as I neatly twist the stem into a knot with my tongue, but I hardly register Troy's expression as I pull the knot tight, one end still caught between my teeth. Edward has seen what I'm doing, and as he gazes momentarily into my eyes I catch a glimpse of something; anger or dismissal, or maybe both. My body is humming with a raw concoction of emotions, frustration and daring and shame, almost indistinguishable under the thick layer of guilt. Just like when I was with Matt. Back then I was numb to everything; he was dangerous and it made me feel, for a moment, alive. I guess that time has passed, now all I feel is out of control, like things are spinning too fast and my mind can't catch up.

Troy leads me to the dance floor and soon Edward is dancing right beside us, making it impossible not to see their every move. Troy is leading me at a super fast pace to the beat but Edward is managing to twirl her in an incredibly slow and sensual rhythm, as if they're in their own world with a completely different track than everyone else. She seems to be lost in the moment, but his eyes never leave mine. I feel nauseous under his gaze. I've lost my appetite for even pretending to have a flirty time with Troy, and make a weak excuse to end the dance. Not knowing what to do instead, I walk down the corridor and slip out a pair of French doors.

I sink onto a stone bench, watching water rushing out of a nearby fountain and falling, rippling across the placid water, a few droplets escaping the seemingly inevitable descent. It's chilly out but I just can't be inside anymore. I pull out my phone to find something to do while I try to subdue the panic building inside me, but it's impossible to concentrate on anything so I mindlessly flip through pictures. As the minutes tick by, I switch from photos to contacts. I force myself not to call Lindsay and ask her to pick me up. Taking a deep breath, I hastily put my phone away, there's no need to make this situation crazier than it already is.

It's close to an hour before Edward finds me in the courtyard, and by now it's getting dark. Suddenly aware of the chill that's creeping along my skin, leaving goosebumps, I wrap my thin sweater tightly around myself.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," he says coolly. I look up at him, hurt and angry but at the same time relieved that he's alone. He stands in front of me, surveying me, his expression impassive.

"You didn't enjoy the game?" he finally asks.

"It wasn't as fun as I envisioned," I reply. I think I'm far angrier at myself, but my long, anxious wait alone, has swathed him in it as well. I can't stop myself from adding accusingly, "It seemed like you were having a good time."

"You didn't like that?" Edward says, his voice steely and soft all at once. "I don't know what games you usually like to play, but I don't share."

"I don't want to, either," I say. His admission might have excited me, but I feel too wretched to really register it. Edward gives me a long, unreadable look.

"Well Isabella, I hope you're a fast learner and don't ask for things you don't want. I watched while you flirted with someone else, that's not something that will happen twice."

"I don't know why I suggested it. I'm sorry," I say, huddled with my arms still wrapped around myself.

And then in one swift movement Edward has me off the bench and we're together in a desperately close embrace. He roughly grabs my chin, dragging my face up to find my lips. I'm crushed against him, consumed by him, and after everything, the feeling is so overwhelming that I don't think I could stand if I wasn't completely captured in his arms.


	9. Chapter 8

I absently twirl my headphone cord around my wrist as I listen to Jacob talk to someone else on the other end of the phone. "Hey," he apologizes, "I thought we were finished."

"That's OK, how was your day?"

"Just getting started, you?" he asks. It's already seven o'clock at night. I roll my eyes at his man-of-leisure attitude, but I can't help the smile twitching the corners of my mouth.

"Still stuck in the office," I reply dryly.

"Unsurprising. You're always working."

I want to say that's what normal people do, but I think better of it. Before I would have said anything to Jacob, but we've been skating on such thin ice and I don't know how he's going to take things anymore, so I stick to irreproachable responses. "Yup, going to have dinner now though."

"Want to eat together?"

Anticipation courses through me, but something about the way he asks makes me hesitate. The question hangs between us, it feels like all the oxygen is being swallowed out of the room. "Sure," I finally say.

I get to the restaurant before Jacob and am seated at a small table by the window. I order a Chenin Blanc right away and massage my shoulders and arms, which are stiff and sore from hours of typing notes. It's a good discomfort though, the result of regularity and hard work. Plugging away peacefully at the office had seemed stable and secure after the events of Long Island.

"Let me give you a hand with that." Jacob places his warm hands on top of mine. My shiver can't be from cold, the heat from the room is causing a fog to creep up the windows. I tense up and Jacob takes the hint, letting go of me and grabbing the other chair.

My drink arrives and I take a sip. "I'll have what she's having," Jacob says to the waiter, not taking his eyes off me. "Guess who I brought with me?"

"What?" I say, not understanding until I feel another pair of hands caressing my shoulders.

"Oh Bella, you look exhausted yet beautiful," Emma's voice murmurs in my ear, "I'm going to use this excuse to touch you."

"Emma!" I exclaim. Jacob nudges the chair between us.

"Sit down and shut up, Em," he says in a tolerant tone.

"I can't believe this! When did you get here?" I ask.

Emma tosses her jacket and bag onto the booth next to Jacob. "I landed a couple of hours ago. I warn you, it's 3 a.m. Florence time and I've been travelling for 24 hours."

"You look great," I lie, actually she's a mess. Her normally shiny blonde hair is tangled in a messy bun on top of her head and she's wearing a bizarre layering of shirts, all of them askew.

"So how've you been?" she asks but when I open my mouth she says, "No, I'm sorry, I've got to go clean up for a minute. I won't be able to listen to you until I've brushed my teeth."

Jacob is still looking at me. I'm starting to get unnerved and start babbling, "This is so great, why didn't you tell me she was coming? I'm so glad that she's finally come back, you must be relieved. Did you pick her up from the airport?"

"Yes."

"That's awesome," I say, "really great." I clear my throat. "Did she tell you how things went?"

"A bit." He finally looks away. "She wants to save the best stories for you."

In a gesture of empathy I impulsively reach out and squeeze his hand. His eyes flash to mine and my heart jumps to my throat, I try to withdraw but our fingers tangle together and it's hard to pull away. I snatch up my menu, blushing furiously.

The waiter arrives and Jacob says, "I'll have the Loup de Mer."

"That sounds good, me too," I agree.

I start fidgeting with everything, I play with my napkin, my glass, and finally the candle. Jacob grabs my wrist, holding it away from the flame. "Are you trying to burn yourself?"

"It's fine, I do this all the time," I say childishly, shaking off his hold. I can't stand it when he tells me what to do.

Surprisingly, Jacob lets it drop. "Tell me about your day off."

"You took a day off?" Emma says, sitting down. "I didn't know you do that."

"I went to a vineyard on Long Island."

Jacob looks disgusted. "I can't stand local wine. Did you make it to the beach?"

"Bonfire," I say and leave it at that. It's the only thing I can think of to describe me and Edward's evening which had figuratively, if not literally, gone up in flames.

He drums his hands on the table. "Wow, I haven't been out there since..." He trails off, and I know what he's thinking. When we were kids we spent every summer on those beaches, me and Derrick, Jacob and Emma. We were best friends, the four of us did everything together. Our eyes meet and for a moment neither of us has anything to say.

"Those were the days, hey?" Emma says, her tone a little too flippant.

"Yup," I say, grasping for a funny moment to sidetrack the inevitable depression that this train of thought is leading to. "How about that time we took the car and left Jacob on the beach?"

"Did you forget about me and Derrick or did you do it on purpose?" He's smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes. I look back at him, startled, in my memory it's only Jacob on the beach. I think back and Derrick surfaces for a moment, but I can't stand picturing him that close to the water. In that split second all I can visualize is the waves lapping at his feet and I'm sure they'll drag him out to sea.

I say with a forced laugh, "I'm sure it wasn't an accident since Emma was there. You were out there for hours... sorry about that."

"Definitely not an accident," Emma declares. "You're coming with us for the long weekend, right Bella?"

I look blankly at her, and Emma smacks Jacob.

"Why didn't you tell her?" she demands, "it's going to be so boring if we don't invite some of our friends too."

"Is it your parents' anniversary?" I say, finally cluing in. "Wow, it must be their thirtieth."

"Yeah, we're going to have a huge bash." Emma glares at Jacob like it's his fault.

"Want to come? We can sneak drinks out to the beach," Jacob says, pointedly ignoring Emma as he gives me a daredevil grin, but it doesn't touch his eyes. We look at each other for a long moment, his fierce expression the only thing holding me together. Our words sound superficial and hollow to my ears, we're ignoring the gaping holes where Derrick used to be. I shove my chair back, it scrapes harshly against the rough cement floor as I jump to my feet, mumbling an excuse. In the bathroom, I turn on the taps full blast, a flood of water gushing over my hands. My face is gaunt in the mirror, deep shadows pooling under my eyes. The clinging droplets are difficult to shake from my hands, and I watch as they spatter across the glass, but I register it dimly, as though the inconsequential detail is part of another life.

There are tightly rolled towels in cubby holes on the wall, and I pull one out, drying my hands on the scruffy material. I drop it into a large basket on the floor, standing close to the organized mass of roughened washcloths. There's one cubby hole, right in the middle, where a pear-shaped glass vase sits. It holds a single white Allium, a thousand miniscule white petals floating around its center like a tiny cloud, the stem bending slightly under the weight of it.

When I get back to the table, they're still talking about the anniversary. I sit down and listen to Emma and Jacob, the familiarity of their banter washing over me. I feel as if I'm invisible, a silent observer. Or at least that's my wish, I have no energy left for conversation.

"How about gifts, what should we get them?" Emma says. "Oh, you know what would be great - boogie boards."

"Fuck me, you had better not," Jacob says, "surfing was bad enough."

"Boogie boarding is great exercise."

"It involves lying on the water with no effort whatsoever. Right, Bella?" He doesn't give me time to answer. "Who did you meet on Long Island?"

I'm startled by the abrupt change of subject and say automatically, "I went with Edward."

Jacob rocks back in his chair, causing it to tip precariously. "He doesn't seem like a guy with lousy taste in wine."

"And that's the nicest thing you've ever said about someone who was interested in Bella," Emma says, displaying a total lack of tact.

Jacob tips his chair back to the floor, landing with a firm thunk. I don't know what to say, I can't help but glance his way and am caught in his long, indiscernible look. Eventually I'm the one to look away, blushing under his candid stare.

I can't stand the tense silence. "Em, are you staying with your parents?"

"With me," Jacob says as if we're the only two people talking.

Noticing the time, Emma compulsively reaches for her things. "Shit. Jacob, we have to get going." She stands up. "We're meeting some of my friends. Want to come, Bella?"

I shake my head. "Thanks, but I'm not done work." It's a lie, but Emma believes me, twisting her mouth in a show of disappointment.

"You work too much."

I'm left alone at the table, but instead of leaving, I order another glass of wine from the waiter when he comes to finish clearing our table. Slumped in my chair, I swill the pale clear liquid around, watching the legs seep down the sides, into the pool at the bottom. I'm suddenly tired to the bone. This afternoon I felt more satisfied than I have in a long time, with work, my new place, my newfound independence, the possibility of Edward. Hanging out with Jacob and Emma was like a slap back to reality, reminding me that everything that fulfills me now, is a replacement for what I used to have.

Derrick and Jacob left me behind in almost everything they did. They were party animals, charming, outgoing and fun, whereas I was Derrick's studious little sister, worried about consequences every time they came up with a crazy plan. But as we got older Derrick got wilder, until eventually he couldn't even guilt me into joining him. I'm nauseous at the thought of every time he turned up wasted on my doorstep, and I was furious or judgmental. I didn't like it but I didn't try to stop him, not really, not in a way that I knew would work. Instead I let myself be mad and then forget about it. And Little Miss Consequences, I think bitterly, should have seen it coming. My mouth is contorted, the corners sinking into a miserable frown, as I remember Derrick's mocking expression, his teasing comments. "Come on Bella, what's the problem?" Then laughing at the reasons I come up with - we could be caught, we'd be in trouble, we could be hurt. They sound like feeble excuses, in my insecure voice, already wondering if I could bring myself to do it, if it's worth the risk to get to hang out with them.

Jacob used to be at his side all the time, laughing along with him, sometimes sending me an encouraging smile that would bolster my confidence enough to agree. But I'm having a hard time calling him into my memory, and I realize it's because that was a long time ago; there was a while when Derrick showed up alone. Once, I asked Derrick where he was.

"That pussy," Derrick sneers, earning an angry glare from me. His tone is hurt, but he shrugs it off as if he couldn't care less. "He's got other things going on."

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the door frame of my dorm, effectively blocking Derrick from coming in. My roommate is trying to study, and Harvard doesn't exactly grant extensions for late assignments.

"Hotshot," Derrick says, when I point this out. "Well are you too busy for me to stay over tonight?"

As usual when Derrick makes a presumptuous request, I feel completely uncomfortable, but I call back into the room anyway, unable to refuse him. "Hey Claudia? Do you mind if Derrick crashes on the couch tonight?"

There's a long pause, then a yell of assent from the second bedroom. I nod to Derrick. "See you later then."

Derrick doesn't get back until the next morning. It's still early, a cool mist hanging over the courtyard outside my building, fat beads of moisture clinging to the window. Two forms appear slowly out of the mist, and at first they're an unrecognizable blob. Then I recognize Derrick's bright red jacket, and I can see that his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, he's twitching his leg like he can't keep it still. I can't tell who's with Derrick because the guy's back is to me, maybe another athlete by his build. Trust Derrick to find someone to party with, even in a new place where he doesn't know anyone but me. I squint down, trying to tell what's going on, but they don't seem to be doing anything.

Finally the guy claps Derrick on the back, giving him a gentle shove in the direction of my dorm, and strides away. A moment later there's a knock on my door.

"How was your night?" I ask, trying to sound curious rather than mad like I usually do. It's not like I've never stayed out all night, and I don't know what he was doing, maybe nothing out of the ordinary. At least that's what I hope, until I see the sketchy look in Derrick's eyes, he's definitely coming down off of something. I'm so angry I can't even look him in the face, as I give him a shove. He's a big guy and heavily muscled from years of football but even so, he takes a step back at the force of my hit. I don't remember what I said to him, or what he said to me, I might even have been too angry to string coherent words together, but by the end of it he was slamming the door behind him, and I was shaking with fury, not knowing where to turn, not wanting to get him into trouble.

I push my wine away, suddenly repelled at the idea of my mind being less than clear. I can't keep sitting here but I can't go home either. The silence would be unbearable, and independence seems empty tonight, when I've never felt more alone. I guess I didn't lie to Emma after all; work is the only haven I can think of, where I can lose myself in someone else's problems.


	10. Chapter 9

**Sorry for taking so long to update, I was on the beach in Mexico! **

I sit bolt upright in the plush velvet seat, completely intimidated by Edward's smoldering presence next to me. He hasn't mentioned anything about our last date, or the way it ended. He's been a perfect gentleman, opening doors for me and ushering me into his box seating for the concert. But he hasn't touched me other than a light brush of my waist as we were walking through the front doors. I lean forward, looking down into the crowd at the wild mix of outfits instead of at Edward. A woman in a full length gown, her brooch sparkling under the lights, edges her way along a row, sitting down beside a woman in jeans and a casual black sweater.

"What are you watching?" Edward asks. "You look very intent."

"Nothing," I say quickly. I don't want to admit to people-watching, it seems like such a superficial and inconsequential pastime when faced with Edward's penetrating gaze.

He leans in close and says softly, "See the man and woman together in front of us?"

I nod, my hair swings lightly from the motion and we're so close that it brushes against Edward. At this proximity my senses feel like they're drenched in him, his low voice echoing in my ear, and the scent of him makes me tingle in anticipation. I glance at the couple he's indicating. From the way that they're intimately focussing on each other, it seems as if they're having a romantic evening.

"Usually they're with different partners. Him with his wife where they're sitting now, and her with her husband to the left." I follow his gaze to where an elderly couple now sit. The woman is bent over as if she might be sleeping already, while the man, his mane of silvery hair swept back, sits regally surveying the stage. "I've never seen this older gentleman before tonight." He leans back just enough to meet my surprised gaze, his expression curious, and I'm excited at the intrigue that's suggested by the mischievous quirk of his lips. As if he had read my mind, he says, "Concerts are enjoyable for more than the music."

The lights dim, and everyone bursts into applause as the pianist walks out. She sits down at the shining grand piano and touches the keys lightly, as if familiarizing herself with them before beginning to play. The first notes are delicate in the huge room. Our seats are ensconced by a solid mahogany wall, and except for the two couples in front of us, we're practically invisible to the crowd. It makes the performance feel more intimate, as if she's playing just for us.

Edward's hand skims down the nape of my neck and I shiver. He links our fingers, our hands lightly resting on his thigh. All my senses are focused on the feel of his fingers encasing my wrist and brushing over the back of my hand. The concert fades into the background, I don't know how much time is passing as the music ebbs by. My attention is so heightened, every fiber of my body alert and focussed on his touch, wondering how long it will last, nervously wanting to reciprocate.

Tentatively I slide my hand up his thigh, over the fabric of his trousers. He hardens and I wet my lower lip, my heart racing as the desire in his eyes burns into mine. The music has stopped. In the pin-drop silence of the hall, I'm afraid that even the rustle of clothing will attract the attention of the couple in front of us, but the look in his eyes is filling me with confidence and I brush the length of him. I caress him slowly at first, as the notes of the next movement begins, then stroking faster, matching the quick tempo of the minuet with my hand. He tilts his head back, struggling to maintain control.

He slides one leg between mine, pushing them apart and causing my skirt to slide up, exposing my sheer underwear. I find myself with my legs spread, hoping more than ever that the people in front don't turn around. I'm vulnerable, throbbing from the risk and intensity of pleasuring him in silence, and almost whimper in frustration when he runs his hand up the inside of my thigh and stops just short.

As the movement comes to a crashing end, Edward leans forward and says, "Come with me." He leads me to the elevator, and when the door opens, stands me in the middle of it. Spreading my legs he kneels in front of me, dropping velvety kisses up my inner thighs, his hands cupping my ass. I moan and lean forward, bracing my arms against the elevator wall. He gives my ass a light slap and at once I stand up straight, gasping in pleasure as he scrapes his teeth lightly along my underwear. The elevator dings open, and releasing me he stands up, leaving me with unbearable need.

We push through the glass doors into the square outside. It's dark now, the lights of the city all around us casting a warm glow as we walk across the paving stones. A pop-up theatre is being set up on a patch of grass behind the hall, and people are gathering in the courtyard. Clasping my hand, Edward leads the way toward the fountain.

It looks magical tonight. Lit up from below it towers above us, the water droplets glinting like golden raindrops. He presses me down onto the ledge, pinning me underneath himself, my back flat against the rough stone and the spray off the fountain misting my skin. The cool dampness or Edward's kiss sends shivers through me. He runs his tongue along my lips, my heart thudding as I taste him and feel the hot tingle of mint gum. I cling to him as he kisses me, the world fading away. My eyes are closed, but there are a million pinpricks of light behind my lids, as if I'm lying under a sky full of stars. When he pulls me back up I blink in surprise, disoriented to be in the square with people all around.

In only a few moments we're turning onto a quieter street, and I catch sight of Edward's flat grey Lamborghini. He opens my door and I sink down into the seat, surprised when he slides in behind me. I try to think through my desire, wondering what I'm okay with in this situation, but he cuts off my thoughts. All I can think about are his lips as he captures my mouth in a teasing, sensual kiss. He maneuveres me so that I'm kneeling on the firm leather seat, grasping the steering wheel for support. Brushing my hair aside he presses kisses down my back, one hand splayed flat against my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath as he gives a tug, I feel a rush of cool air and then he's cupping my breasts in his hands. He captures my nipple between his fingers, and I moan as he lightly pinches. I arch back, lifting my arm to tangle my fingers in his hair.

There's a knock on the window right in front of me and my already racing heart accelerates wildly. I freeze with my hands twined in Edward's hair, my eyes wide and staring momentarily into a pair peering back at me. I let out an involuntary gasp, Edward must see him too because the next second I'm pushed face-down on the seat. I stay completely still, all I can think about is the sensation of the cold leather against my bare breasts and the seatbelt that's digging into my side. I hear the door slam behind Edward, the sound cracking through my frozen brain like a whip. I clumsily sit up and fumble with straps, sliding them over my shoulders and pulling the hem of my dress down. I don't understand why it's so difficult until I realize my hands are shaking badly. I huddle back in the seat, waiting for Edward to come back.

"I couldn't find him," Edward says coldly when he gets in the driver's seat. His face is set in unyielding lines, he looks furious and I shiver.

"Maybe he was just checking out the car," I say, my voice shaky.

Edward engulfs me in his intense gaze. "Are you angry?"

"No," I say shaking my head, "just a bit shaken."

Edward trains his eyes on the road but I continue to watch him, his jaw is clenched but he shows no other sign of stress as he confidently glides through traffic. He looks completely in control compared to my own agitated and turbulent thoughts. It was me who was pinned up and exposed, but somehow I think if he had been equally on display he would be no less dominant right now. We sit in silence and my mind wanders, always landing on some dark moment that I would rather forget. I'm trying not to, but I keep circling back to those eyes and wondering whose they were.

Edward pulls up in front of my building and leaning over, he undoes my seatbelt. His lips graze my ear and my nerves flutter unsteadily.

"I'll walk you upstairs," is all he says and I can't identify why I'm so relieved. Maybe it's more than just not wanting to be outside by myself, part of me is glad he's not starting anything else in the car.

We get to my door and I unlock it but leave it closed. I turn to face Edward, not sure what to do next. He leans down and kisses me on the mouth, I concentrate on his lips and the firm pressure he's exerting on me. Leaning back against the door, he cages me, enclosing me with his palms on the frame and deepening the kiss until I feel dizzy.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask. My voice surprises me, sounding unrecognizable to my own ears. He lifts my hand to his mouth, slowly giving the skin between my thumb and forefinger a nip and then placing another kiss on the inside of my wrist.

"Yes," he says.

"I don't have any furniture yet," I say apologetically as I open the door, nervous about bringing him into my apartment. It's the first place that is all my own. I suddenly realize how intimate it is to have someone in my own space, noticing every detail, and at this moment I can't stand the thought of being stripped any further.

"Would you like something to drink?" I ask as I quickly walk through the living area and around the counter to the kitchen. My own self-consciousness is intolerable as I watch Edward take in the bareness of the room. My one chair in the living room and single barstool at the kitchen counter looks lonely to me now instead of full of possibilities, and the scuffs on the walls stand out in a way I never noticed before.

"No," he says, his eyes landing back on me. "Did you just move in?"

"Last month."

"Why don't you show me around," he suggests.

"Okay," I say ducking my head to avoid his direct stare. "Other than this there's just the bathroom and bedroom."

There are boxes stacked unopened along the walls of my tiny bedroom, and the mattress is sitting directly on the floor. Nothing to see in any of the rooms except white walls and worn wooden floorboards. I've called someone to repair the pocket doors to my closet, but for now they're resting against the wall. With no dresser yet, I've haphazardly folded and piled all my jeans and sweaters in a corner. My new bedspread was my housewarming present from Lindsay. With its romantically intricate hand-stitching, it stands out in a dull room as a bright stroke of loveliness.

Edward sits down on the edge of the bed, it should be a relaxed motion but nothing he does ever looks casual. Even sitting on the bed he doesn't recline, or maybe it's that although he's taken off his jacket he's still in his suit. I stand in the middle of the room in front of him, the desire coursing through me masking some of the uncertainty and awkwardness.

"Take off your clothes," Edward instructs me, and my eyes widen in surprise. I wet my lips nervously, my pulse thrumming in my ears as he leans forward slightly. I try to calm down but his demand has me breathing fast and shallow. Of course I want this, I invited him in, but Edward manages to make me feel sexy and insecure at the same time. And it all seems a bit dangerous, the unknown infinitely larger and darker than before I met Matt.

I don't know how to be sultry when I'm standing uncertainly in the middle of my bedroom, with no atmosphere or music, and I blush when the zipper catches on the way down. I give it a little yank and manage to free it from the fabric, then shrug out of the sleeves so that my dress falls to the ground. Edward's eyes skim over me, starting from my stiletto heels and pausing at my pale violet panties and bra. I nervously twine my hands, in an attempt to stop myself from fidgeting.

"Now your bra and panties."

I reach behind and unclasp my bra, let it fall to the floor, then step out of my stilettos and slip off my panties. I look back at him vulnerable and naked, my breasts rising and falling with my erratic breathing and my stomach clenched in anticipation. I feel like I'm a fuse waiting to be lit. He comes over to me and brushes his fingers over my abdomen, running a trail around my waist as he circles me, taking me in from every angle. Finally he stops in front of me again, and drops down to his knees.

"I think this is where we were," he says, taking my ass in his hands and giving me a light squeeze. I tremble as he runs his nose all the way up my thigh, kissing me along my inner most sensitized skin. My breath catches as his thumb rolls over my clit, and I gasp out a moan when his finger enters me. There are so many sensations at once, the squeeze of his hand on my ass, the thrust of his finger inside me, the velvety wet tease of his tongue on my clit. My legs are trembling, and I hold on to him, trying to steady myself as the onslaught threatens to topple me.

Then both his arms are around me. I feel empty without his finger inside me, even though he's pressing me back against the wall, his hands exploring my body and his tongue in my mouth. The fabric of his trousers is cashmere-soft against me like a caress, but on my naked skin it makes me feel like he might walk out at any time, and leave me behind. I need the sensual, intimate feel of his skin against mine. I fumble with his shirt, tugging it out, and undo the buttons one by one, freeing his smooth, golden skin. I run my fingers over his chest until my palms are flat against his hard abs.

Edward picks me up and spreads me out on the bed, then standing up strips himself of his clothes, sheathing himself with a condom. He lowers himself on top of me. His expression is self-satisfied, like he enjoys having me trapped.

"Open your eyes," Edward says, the roughness in his voice rubbing against my hazy thoughts. His eyes are glittering, something hot and primal and powerful licking through them.

"Do you want this?" he asks, his tip pressed against me.

I try to kiss him and arch up against him but his leg flexes against mine, his knee preventing me from pushing any further.

"Tell me what you want," he says, kissing my neck mercilessly until I'm crying out, struggling hopelessly against his tight hold.

"I want you inside me," I pant.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he demands, his kisses moving lower until he's captured one of my breasts in his mouth.

"Yes," I say, bucking up against him, crazy with need but still trapped by his immovable resistance. "Please," I murmur, arching my hips up one more futile time as he thrusts forward. He pounds into me over and over until the last shred of control is gone and I clench in an orgasm that rolls over me again and again, until I have no idea where or who I am. I feel him tense and climax, and then he collapses next to me, wrapping me in a loose embrace.

I lay staring up at the ceiling as everything comes back into focus. I close my eyes, soaking in the mellow tingling warmth that is radiating throughout my body. I'm still intensely aware of every inch of myself, but the pent-up anxiety and tension have been replaced with head to toe satisfaction. I stretch my legs and arms as I try to identify the feeling. It's been so long since I felt it, but gradually my mind settles on a word: happiness. A surge of relief courses through me at the realization that for the first time in months, I'm not emotionally and physically strung out. I wish there was a way I could hold onto it, exactly as I am in this moment.


	11. Chapter 10

I wake up slowly from a drugged sleep, my lids and limbs heavy. I'm surprised when I roll over and see Edward sleeping beside me. Even though we fell asleep tangled together, I expected him to leave, but he's sprawled next to me, his chest rising and falling evenly. Heat rushes through me as a tidal wave of memories from last night comes flooding back.

But the inevitable nervousness creeps in, my stomach clenches at the thought that last night was our first time together. We haven't even spoken except for a drowsy exchange as I was drifting off, and I'm sure I won't know what to say to him. I grab the first shirt I find beside the bed. It's Edward's but I slip into it anyway.

I'm taking my french press out of the cupboard when a sound startles me. I whirl around to see Edward standing in the doorway.

"Good morning," I say, engulfed in shyness. The toaster pings, and I put two pop tarts on a plate.

"Don't eat that," he says, his voice full of concern as he comes over and takes the plate away from me. "It's not safe to ingest anything this shade of blue."

"They're blueberry flavoured, totally healthy with fruit," I say, defending my breakfast, but he tosses them out.

"Absolutely not. I'll make you something."

Fifteen minutes later Edward is in the middle of making what he informs me is a Crépe Jambon-Fromage. Since I have Edward's shirt on, he's in nothing but his trousers and I sit on the barstool admiring his taut muscles as he moves around the kitchen.

"You look very hot," I say, then look down at the counter, embarrassed by my frankness.

"Thank you." A strand has escaped my loosely knotted hair and he tucks it behind my ear. I still feel reticent even as I'm steeped in a slow kiss. He lifts me onto the counter and I wrap my legs around him, clinging to him as his lips make their way down my neck. Undoing the top few buttons of my shirt, he pushes the material aside, his eyes slowly travelling down over my breasts. I've never felt so naked as I do right now, trembling with arousal on my kitchen counter in the bright sunlight, as Edward takes in every visible flaw. His eyes drift back to mine again, I can see every golden fleck in his cool green eyes and right now they've got a lazy, lusty glint. Pulling the elastic out of my hair so that it tumbles down around my shoulders, he rakes his fingers roughly through the tangles.

My phone rings shrilly right beside us. I'm jolted to attention, the sound reverberating through my Edward-fogged head. A repairman is scheduled to come in this morning so I regretfully pick up the phone, my attention only half-focused on the voice as Edward's hands slide down to rest loosely on my waist.

"Someone's coming to fix the broken doors," I say, hanging up and looking up at Edward apologetically. "He'll be here any minute."

Edward gives me one more heart-stopping kiss before sliding me off the counter. "No problem," he says lightly, kissing me again, "but I demand a raincheck. Oh, and my shirt."

"You are so bad," I moan, as he strips me of the only piece of clothing I had on.

I'm standing in my kitchen in nothing but my panties, my hair tumbled and my lips swollen from kissing. Edward gives me a charming, sexy smile.

"By the looks of you it would seem that I am so good."

Even after Edward is gone, I'm feeling better than I have for a long time. While the closet doors were being fixed I went out and bought a small chest of drawers. Looking around my bedroom later in the afternoon, I decide to start on the easiest part of my unpacking. I wedge the chest into the closet underneath the hangers, and start placing folded shirts and jeans inside. It's satisfying to see them, one pile after another, tucked neatly into the drawers. I've organized them by colour and it looks so nice that I start reorganizing my hanging clothes to get the same wash of colour.

I'm halfway done when Lindsay arrives.

"Guava or piña colada?" I ask, taking two bottles of juice out of the fridge.

"Thanks, I'm parched," she says, taking the pineapple. "I just went for a run."

"Finally! That's great," I say enthusiastically. "How did it go?"

Lindsay shrugs noncommittally. "Honestly? It was so intimidating, there were all these hot joggers passing me. And I was huffing and puffing along, feeling completely unattractive."

I look at her in disbelief and she says, "I know, call me vain, but it's enough to stop me from doing any form of real exercise." She reaches for a box. "So where are we going to start first?"

"The bathroom," I say quickly. I know the contents of what she's about to look into, and I don't want to open it. When Lindsay suggested unpacking, I only had clothes and cosmetics in mind.

We sort through miscellaneous items while we chat, or rather, I listen with interest to Lindsay's story about her latest crush. She claims to be searching for her soul-mate but she loves the chase far too much for that to be realistic. And the amount of enjoyment she gets out of going out with someone new, I'm not sure why she would want to stop. Even the weird ones she seems to find their absurdity funny instead of disappointing, and she gets so into the drama of it.

I survey our progress when Lindsay takes a break from storytelling to answer a text. The vast number of products is a big organizational problem. The mirror above the pedestal sink hides a hanging medicine cabinet, but it's two small shelves and there isn't space for any other storage. I would rather throw half the stuff out, except that sooner or later I'll want to use a foot scrub, the half empty bottle of hair spray, or this shocking colour of green nail polish that I'm holding.

"How's it going with Jacob?" Lindsay ask putting her phone down beside her on the black and white linoleum.

"What do you mean?" I ask, surprised by Lindsay's out-of-the-blue question. I've barely seen Emma or Jacob since she arrived. Emma texted me yesterday, to tell me they're busy catching up with friends. I'm upset that she bothered to text, it felt like she was rubbing in their exclusivity.

"I just wondered if something happened," Lindsay says.

I struggle with how to phrase it, I don't want to be clingy or unreasonable. Jacob's sudden interest had left me with a hope that things were getting back to normal, I need to get it through my head that we rarely see each other anymore and it's probably going to stay that way. "No, it's just that I haven't seen him. He and Emma have been catching up on their own."

"Did Jacob tell you that?"

"No, Emma did. She sort of... asked for some space."

"Oh. That explains why -" Lindsay breaks off.

"What?"

She looks uncomfortable. "They were out with the old NYU group last night. I wondered why you weren't there, but Emma was the one who organized it, so…" She trails off again. "Are you mad?"

I know it's not Lindsay's fault, but I can't help the pang of rejection that I feel. Lindsay has millions of people she's close to, whereas my only good friends before I met Linds were Emma and Jacob. Sure I've prioritized school and work, and I always use the excuse that it didn't leave much time for anything else, but that's not the reason. Meeting new people has always been difficult and uncomfortable. I can't help but feel the extra sting that Lindsay was invited last night and not me.

"Of course not," I say, too quickly. "They can meet up with whoever they want."

"Except it's not _them_, it's just Emma. Jacob asked me where you were."

"Oh well," I say lightly, trying to shrug it off. "Emma's been gone awhile, she probably just wants to, I don't know, catch up or…" I can't help it, I'm really hurt, I don't know why Emma doesn't want to see me. She seemed happy enough the other night. The rainbow of products on the floor are melting into each other, the colours blurring together as I blink back tears. I don't know what I did wrong.

Lindsay comes over and puts her arms around me. "That sucks. I'm sorry I even mentioned it. I hate that this happened." Her familiar scent, a soft soap, fills my nostrils and I find myself feeling both better and worse. I hug her back but let go immediately, not wanting to wallow in the sympathy.

"Maybe I said something the other night."

Lindsay makes a sound of frustration. "I'm sorry Bella, but I doubt it. That's just who Emma is. She can be a real bitch. The other night, Roxanne said -"

"I wouldn't use Roxanne as an example of a good friend," I retort, on the defensive. Lindsay looks irritated.

"I know you don't like her, but she's not an idiot. She doesn't like the way Emma acts." Lindsay hesitates, as if weighing how much she should say. "Emma's weirdly possessive."

"Of what?"

Lindsay looks at me strangely. "Well for starters, Jacob. Haven't you ever noticed that?"

"I guess so," I say cautiously. "I never thought of it in those terms before."

"A long time ago Roxanne went on a date with him. Emma showed up right in the middle and wouldn't leave until he went with her."

"That would be a bizarre thing to do for no reason." I resist pointing out that we're having a conversation based on situations we have no idea about, not wanting to prolong the discussion.

Lindsay thinks what I need is to have a girls night and join them at a birthday celebration for her friend Jaime. I go with it as she calls up some friends and invites them over to my apartment to get ready before we go out. The whole friend bonding experience, after being excluded by Emma, is thoughtful and sweet of her. Before long, they begin to crowd into my small space. Lindsay has unloaded snacks and set them out in the kitchen, strewn the outfits all over the bedroom, and there are half-clothed girls wandering around my apartment holding pink martinis. It's like an adult slumber party gone awry.

But having a bunch of girls in my apartment, half of them strangers, is like a house invasion. I watch as one of them opens cupboard after cupboard in my kitchen, finally finding the glass she was looking for. At first I felt apologetic that I didn't have anywhere for them to sit, now as one particularly nosy girl seem intent on looking into every nook and cranny of my place, I can't wait for them to leave.

I end up standing next to Lindsay, holding a drink as Nicci and Francesca drape dresses and skirts and tops across us. They keep up a constant flow of conversation, critiquing the pros and cons of sequins versus lace, which Lindsay ignores completely. She turns on the spot for Francesca who shakes her head and tosses a studded leather top over her shoulder. It's immediately replaced by a simple sexy tank top, sleek and shiny and perfect for the warm weather. When they're satisfied with Lindsay's outfit the move on to me and Nicci's giving me a dress that is just a bit too low-cut, a bit too short, and the back is completely sheer with lace overlay.

We're putting the finishing touches on our makeup when Roxanne comes into the room. Her long blonde hair is incredibly shiny and earlier this evening she poured her toned body into a corset-style shirt and super skinny jeans. She has a friendly expression but I can't help myself from a twinge of dislike.

"Can I leave a few things here?" she asks, "I'll come back for them tomorrow."

Maybe I'm being controlling and unfriendly, but my discomfort around her is partly because of requests like that. If it was Lindsay who wanted to leave things at my house, great, she's my best friend, but it seems like a lack of boundaries to ask that of someone you barely know.

"Not planning on going home tonight, Rox?" Lindsay says. My annoyance increases as Roxanne strikes an overtly sexy pose.

We arrive at Underground and order a round of drinks and tapas. The room is grungy with rickety wooden tables and chairs, worn leather benches line the side where I'm sitting now. I take in the long narrow space, pictures of cities at night squeezed along the plastered wall above me. It's so dim that it's a bit hard to see, almost the only light is coming from the red potted tea light in front of me, and the flashes of fire off the grill from the open kitchen. A giant flame leaps into the air and illuminates Jacob's face, for a moment it feels like a fist is squeezing my heart.

Caught in a moment of indecision, I wonder if he's going to stay for long, and if it would be weird to go say hello. I mentally berate myself for making a big deal out of it. Of course I can talk to one of my oldest friends. Before I can make up my mind, he notices me staring at him and breaks away from the group he's talking to.

"Hey there," he says, sliding into the booth beside me, his arm slung casually along the back of the bench behind my head. He leans in so he doesn't have to shout over the music. "Do you know everybody?"

"Just who I came with - the twins and Roxanne."

Jacob's eyes fall on Roxanne, who is chatting with Lindsay at the other end of the table. "Oh yeah, she dated my roommate back in freshman year. In fact I think Lindsay introduced them, I never thanked her for that treat."

Forcing a laugh, I say, "Wow, that's right. The number of times I walked in on her naked, I feel like it's burned into my memory." The comment seemed justified since it was absolutely true, but as soon as I've said it I feel mean.

He's still watching Roxanne, but trailing his fingertips across my shoulders and down my arm. I continue to look straight ahead, knowing how destructive this situation is for me but unable to break the contact. My skin is lapping up the attention as a trail of goosebumps follow his fingers. I sit stiff and motionless, as if by feigning invisibility I'm cleared of making decisions.

The waitress comes up with our tapas and Jacob sits forward to make room on the table. I can barely hear his flirtatious exchange with her, there's a rushing in my ears and I try to clear my head with a sip of water. Get over it Bella, I tell myself harshly, but I can't keep the heartache at bay. I'm frustrated that these emotions are still living just beneath my new skin, waiting to be scratched. It seems like I'm getting over Jacob, but then something small happens and I'm back here again, as hurt and confused as ever. And disgusted with myself that all it takes is a minute of attention from him.

Roxanne sits down across from us and starts chatting with Jacob. I'm getting more and more embarrassed, of course Jacob is flirting with everyone, he's just having fun at a party. I shift in my seat, trying to move as far from him as I can without it being obvious. Feeling his arm brush mine every time he leans in closer to hear what Roxanne says is going to drive me crazy.

I tap Jacob on the shoulder. "Can I get out?"

He stands up automatically, but when I grab for my coat he doesn't let me by. He's blocking my way, filling up the entire space, and making it impossible to get by without pushing past him. The scratchy wool slides from between my fingers as he takes the coat out of my hands. "You're leaving already?"

"I have to get going."

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asks, looking at me intently. "Come to brunch. Just me and you and Em."

"I can't," I look directly at him. He can probably see the hurt in my eyes, I've never been able to keep much from Jacob.

"What's up, Bella?" Jacob asks guardedly.

"If Em wants to go I'll be there, but otherwise I'm busy," I say, walking past him.

I can't see Lindsay, and I don't want to leave without saying goodbye. The twins are at the other end of the table, and I approach them to find out where Lindsay is, but they just shrug. I stand awkwardly, not sure if I should wait, but I'm drawn into their dry, witty banter and I end up sitting down next to Nicci. On the other side of her, Francesca has started guessing the ingredients in the food. She's a chef at a little Italian restaurant in SoHo and is obsessed with recipe experimentation.

"Honey," Francesca says, tasting a skewer of chicken satay. Nicci tries it too.

"I don't believe that makes sense. It's a savoury dish."

"Honey will balance the lime. There's a cilantro flavour, the leaves must have been in the marinade, or muddled and removed."

I give it a try but it just tastes sweet and sour to me.

"Impress me with something difficult," Nicci says. "For instance, I think there's chicken in it."

"Oh really?" Francesca says sarcastically. "Now, what I would have done -"

"Shh," Nicci says, "don't be rude. Bella, how has your evening been?"

"Good," I say. "Yourselves?"

"Fantastic," Francesca says. "Now enough with the formalities, tell me what Roxanne has done wrong."

"Done wrong?" I look down to the other end of the table and my stomach twists up again at the sight of her and Jacob.

"You've been shooting daggers at her since you sat down. Go on, what's she done?"

"Aside from going after Jacob," Nicci puts in.

"That's not it," I feel myself flush, "she's Jacob's type." A tall, blonde model, the prototype of almost every girl Jacob has dated, and everything I'll never be.

"She's hot," Francesca says, "I can see the appeal."

"She just doesn't seem like the nicest person," I want to bite my tongue off, I don't know who this horrible person is that's taken over my body. I shouldn't care what Jacob does, I think savagely to myself. Somehow it just makes me angrier, that he can do this to me without even trying.

"No, definitely not," Nicci says at the same time that Francesca says,

"I've never had a problem with her." They look at each other in surprise.

"Really, you don't like her?" Francesca asks. "She's not very interesting, but I wouldn't say she was mean."

"She definitely is," Nicci says, "but only if you're on her bad side. I saw her take down a girl who was flirting with her boyfriend once, it was painful."

There's a long pause and then Francesca says thoughtfully, "I would suggest not trying to steal someone she's interested in."

I'm embarrassed more than ever now, and say defensively, "Jacob and I have been friends for as long as I can remember."

"Okay," says Nicci, sounding unconvinced, "I agree with you either way. Attractive, successful people with no personality make me pessimistic."

"It doesn't seem right, does it," Francesca agrees.

There's another pause and then Nicci says out of the blue, "Bella, we like you. We're going out Thursday night, will you come?"

"Thanks for the invitation," I say politely. "I'd love to come, where are you going?"

"We want to check out a jazz club in SoHo. There's supposed to be a very exciting live band. It starts at eleven."

Lindsay's making her way back to the table. When she arrives, we spend a few minutes making plans with the twins before I leave. I force myself not to look back at Jacob and Roxanne as I finally walk out the door.


	12. Chapter 11

It's always rush hour in Manhattan but somehow it sounds different today, like the traffic knows it's a weekend and is moving at a more relaxed pace. At the end of a sixty-hour week and facing another one, I'm going to spend today doing as little as possible, exploring the shops in my new neighbourhood or going for a long walk. But first I have to go for brunch with Jake and Em.

I'm waiting near the entrance when Emma arrives. She's appraising me with a critical eye, and when she reaches me, she touches the hem of my jacket. "I saw this stitching on a runway in Milan," she says.

"I think that's the biggest compliment you've ever paid me."

"You bet it is. Normally your clothes are a whole season behind. Colonial," she teases.

"Purist," I say, trying to smile back at her. I still feel hurt about the way she purposefully excluded me. At first I had planned to ask her about it, but now that she's here I've changed my mind. We both lost something; I responded with a string of dangerous acts, she left the country. Maybe being around me is a difficult reminder, I can understand why she would want to avoid that. But whatever the reason, and no matter how determined I am to let it go, I find myself unable to make conversation.

I run my hand along the white-washed door frame. Slight bubbles in the surface have worn down and started to peel, leaving it rough like stubble. A chip of paint snags and breaks off, it flutters toward the ground, flipping over in the slight breeze. Emma is watching the chip's progress even more closely than I am, a pensive expression on her face. She looks like she's trying to find words for something very difficult to say, but just as she opens her mouth, a waitress appears and directs us inside.

The room is packed, the brunch line snaking almost to the door, and it's only because of the warm grey-and-ivory décor and lofty, arched ceilings that the restaurant doesn't seem unbearably busy. Greenery spikes out of plant pots, and the walls are decorated with images of sand dunes, bamboo stalks, and a lone hot air balloon floating over a meadow scene. This could have been any weekend not so long ago, Emma and I ordering coffee and catching up while we wait for the boys, who are inevitably late.

"Tell me what you've been up to," she says as we sit down.

"I'm completely swamped at my new job," I say, "how about you?"

"Just the photo shoot. Six very intense weeks." Emma yawns and stretches, and seeing her look like a sleepy cat I wonder how she managed any intense weeks at her usual laid-back pace. "Time for a holiday," she says, underscoring my incredulity about her definition of 'intense'.

"You were going to tell me why you were late flying home from the shoot."

"Oh right," Emma says with an impish smile, "it was a killer trip, I had to go through six different countries just to get here. I got stuck overnight in a train station -"

"Yikes, Emma that sounds sketchy."

"It was completely safe. I met a couple of Irish boys -"

"Don't you think it's dangerous to meet people like that?" I ask, unable to stop myself from cutting in again. It's so passive aggressive but I seem intent on being negative about everything, instead of addressing my real issue with her.

"You're such a worry-wart." Emma laughs. "Anyways I met this guy, Andrew. With a unibrow." She holds her index finger across her eyebrows to demonstrate. "And his friend's name was something like Airgano. They were great kissers."

"How does something like that even start?"

"With conversation, obviously," Emma says. The waitress comes back with our drinks, and Emma takes a sip. As she holds her orange juice, the glass shakes a little, she's actually vibrating with excitement. "Argonaut had this idea that I should kiss both of them, then tell him which of them was better. I said, 'Fuck that, you guys are boxers, let's not start a fight here'."

I watch her trembling hands with concern, now I notice that it's not only that, her whole body seems to be literally vibrating. "Please don't start fights with boxers," I reply, watching her carefully, wondering what's going on with her.

"Oh no, I didn't, it turned out they liked each other more than me. I quite enjoy being the third with two very attractive men," Emma says nonchalantly.

She jumps to her feet, and I drop my coffee spoon, surprised by the sudden action. My half-stirred coffee splashes up the sides, pooling on the saucer.

"Shall we try the buffet?" she asks, then continues at warp speed, "The threesome has to be experienced. Did I ever tell you about the Greek boys I met in Sardinia?"

"No. What happened?"

"Not gay enough," she says ruefully. "They both wanted to sleep with me and I think it seemed like a good compromise to just," she glances around at the people beside us in the lineup and then lowers her voice, "both fuck me silly at once. But they didn't know what to do with each other. It was embarrassing."

"I guess I need to travel more," I say, "it's so easy, all that free sex with no strings attached."

Emma doesn't catch the sarcasm and she says skeptically, "Have you met yourself, Bella? You're not into free and easy. You are perpetually tangled up in emotions. It's not a bad thing," she adds, her expression earnest, "but it's very different. Look at you and Jacob."

"What about us?" I ask quickly. Blushing, I start spooning mashed potatoes onto my plate, but not before I catch sight of Emma's expression of disbelief.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Bella. You've liked him forever, but you waited too long. The stakes are too high now." She's following close behind me, wrapped up in her revelation and forgetting to take food. I try my best to fill her plate for her. "I'm all about low risk relationships, one night is the new two years," she declares.

"That is totally dysfunctional," I reply, my cheeks still burning.

"It works for me," she says, then adds, "It works for Jacob too, by the way. Guess who he was with last night?"

"He was at Lindsay's party," I say, confused.

"I know he was. Guess who he brought home?" She takes in my expression, smugness radiating from her, like my recoil is a personal accomplishment of hers, confirming what I had just denied. She makes a face, "Roxanne is the worst yet. I wish he'd quit sleeping with my friends."

Her words sting, and I turn my face away, staring unseeingly at the shiny silver lid of the food warmer. Emma's great at finding vulnerabilities. I don't even know if she does it on purpose, or if she has a knack for flinging careless words that just happen to actually mean something.

We're back at the table when I see Jacob coming through the door. My stomach turns uneasily at the sight of him. Last night was already on my mind, and after Emma's revelation, all I can think of is his fingers running along my skin while he flirted with Roxanne. He comes up behind Emma and ruffles her hair. "Hey, Bella."

"I'm telling Bella the story about my trip back," Emma says, before turning back to me. "So, I told Arrivadecci that it would make more sense if he and Andrew kissed, and then he could tell us if Andrew or I kissed better."

"Did they?" I can barely keep up with what she's talking about, among the swirl of changing names and subjects. It's better than thinking about Jacob and Roxanne, so I train all my attention on her.

"Andrew was better, hands down. It was odd at first," Emma cracks her knuckles, "he did a powerful sort of snaky thing with his tongue that took a little getting used to but was ultimately very nice."

"What do you want to bet this is why Emma was two days later than expected?" Jacob asks.

I take in Emma's bland expression and say, "Fifty bucks says her flight was delayed for legitimate reasons."

"Legitimate," Jacob makes a derisive sound, "if by that you mean a dirty weekend. For the record, Em, you probably shouldn't keep doing these things."

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or impressed by how confident you are," Emma says. "You're that sure you know me better than Bella does?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "You always warp the truth when you're talking to her. You try to tone down what you've done, but I've seen you in action."

"Cut it out Jacob, she's never going to believe anything I say. I exaggerate to him," she says, "I would never lie to you."

"Okay," I tell her.

"Gullible," Jacob says. "You're going to lose."

I cut in, pointedly ignoring Jacob. "How about Argopop?"

Emma laughs at my attempt at a nickname for Irish Boy Number One. "He was a bit sloppy the first time, but then, he was completely wasted. He definitely improved on further attempts."

"I know where this is going," Jacob says, disgusted. "Bella, I will accept your payment in the form of cash, gifts, or drinks later."

"That's when they kissed," Emma says, ignoring Jacob.

"Doesn't that seem like an odd time?" I ask.

"Nope. Argamentia was finally going for his smoke and they had a long goodbye. There were expressions of affection, of their brotherhood that was stronger than blood, some kissing and reminiscing about the times they had had together. It was a wild weekend." Emma grins wickedly.

Jacob interrupts her, obviously losing interest. "Em, I know you planned some kind of bonding breakfast, but do you mind if one more person crashes? Ethan wanted to meet up, so I told him to come here."

"I'm always interested in seeing Ethan," she says with a gleam in her eye.

Jacob points his fork at her. "You are not going to pick a fight with him," he says, then as an afterthought, "and don't sleep with him either. But if you have to do one, fight with him later, I don't want to separate you two."

"What do you think of him?" Emma asks me.

I shrug and pick up my cutlery. My food looks totally unappetizing, but I move it around as if trying to decide what to eat first.

"She's never met him," Jacob says.

Emma's reply fades into the background. Since I've come to breakfast with them, I should concentrate and join in Emma and Jacob's conversation, but my stomach is twisting with anxiety and I'm distracted by the smallest thing. The air-conditioning roaring to life, the waiter talking to the table next to us, the way Emma is tapping her coffee cup with her nails over and over, are all eating into me. My thoughts ricochet from one thing to the next, skimming over the surface of all the topics I don't want to think about.

Jacob is looking past me, toward the door, and raises his arm in greeting. The man approaching us is tall and lanky with perfect hair and a piercing gaze, he's like a young Clint Eastwood. When Jacob introduces us, I barely hear the words. All I notice is the way Ethan does a double-take. Whatever Jacob might have told Ethan about me, he certainly knows who I am.

Emma is impatiently trying to resume her conversation with Jacob. "I can't decide if I should take this job in Sweden. I was just in Amsterdam but I wouldn't mind going back." Sounding as pretentious as I've ever heard her, she says to Ethan, "Being a photographer means I have to travel a lot, but..." She shrugs, and knowing Emma, the implication is 'If only the world didn't want me so much'.

"That's nice," Ethan says, glancing her way. "Bella, what do you do?" The smile he bestows on me is devastating.

"I'm a lawyer," I say shortly. "How do you like neurosurgery, Ethan?"

Ethan doesn't notice, or at least ignores the chill in my response. "Just saving lives," he says, pinning me in his gaze, the mirth in his eyes contagious. He's so likeable that it makes me want to find fault with him even more.

"Yeah, I'd hate to see you do anything important." Jacob is watching me instead of Ethan as he speaks. Maybe I'm being over-sensitive but I feel like I'm on the spot for something that I haven't been clued into. It's not just me, either. Emma is sitting up straighter, her narrowed gaze flicking between Ethan and me, and her face has taken on a competitive edge. She turns to me as though to include me in a private achievement.

"He's been a huge influence on Jacob. Maybe enough to start thinking about a real job."

"Thanks, Emma," Jacob says sarcastically, but without anger.

"You're welcome. It's a good thing I like you, Ethan, or we'd be sick of each other. You two seem to be a package deal these days. You'll be roomies before we know it."

My eyes are on the table so I don't see Ethan's reaction, but he sounds chagrined. "No offense, Black, that would be a bit much for me."

"Stop bothering him, Emma," Jacob says. This is a dynamic they've perfected, with her shamelessly pursuing someone and him, annoyed at first, letting it go because she won't. Emma is touching Ethan's arm, but he isn't paying attention to her. For a split second her expression is mutinous. Then her impish smile is back and she leans toward him, saying something too quiet for me to hear. Her hair swings forward, hiding Ethan from my narrow peripheral view of his face, and suddenly he could be anyone, someone else entirely. A little bulkier, darker hair, eyes almost exactly the same colour as my own.

When Ethan laughs at something Jacob says, I hear Derrick. His spontaneous, comically loud laugh, that inevitably makes everyone around him smile. Derrick's expression is shocked, he's caught off guard and for once isn't hiding how much he likes Emma. He raises his glass, toasting her, admiration written all over his face. "Well played," he says, shaking his head.

She's obviously pleased with herself. "Just telling it like it is. You couldn't do worse."

"Could do better," he partially concedes. I'm looking between them, not wanting to break their rare truce, but dying to know what they're talking about. Seeing my curiosity, Derrick says, "Nose out, little sister."

His tone is good-natured, but there's no way he'll tell me what's going on. Jacob says, "Are you going to let us in on your little secret, or can we talk about something else?"

Derrick and Emma both laugh again, and he changes the subject. Just like that, he shuts Emma out, joking with Jacob and occasionally me but reserving snide comments for her. Emma turned her back on him just as easily. Now, with Ethan, she is more than attentive, giggling at his least funny jokes and swishing her hair attractively. It's a spectacle, and I find myself looking toward Jacob just for a reason to look away.

Jacob genuinely likes Ethan, it's written all over his relaxed, easy expression. Instead of being happy for him I'm slammed with jealousy, and nostalgia so strong it's almost sickening. Seeing Jaocb with a new friend is filling me with an unfair but undeniable resentment.

Ethan's pager beeps and he glances down to check the message. "It's the hospital. It was great to finally meet you, Bella," he says to me. His warm, genuine smile leaves me embarrassed about my prejudiced feelings, adding to the strangle of emotions around my heart.

"So how do you like Ethan?" Jacob asks me once he leaves.

"He seems fine," I say. I don't want to tell Jacob I dislike the person who's helping him move forward, especially when I know my reaction is completely selfish. When he doesn't take his eyes off my face, my frustration snaps. "What do you want me to say?" I demand, staring back at him.

"I want you to like him," he says, his intensity palpable.

"Why?" I'm genuinely confused. We barely see each other anymore, this is the first time I've even met Ethan. I have no idea why all of a sudden what I think about him is important to Jacob.

"How could it not matter," he says flatly. His words make my heart pound, but I have no idea what to say. Tension electrifies the air between us, until Emma's voice slices through. I had forgotten she was sitting right beside me.

"I'd love to stay and try to figure out whatever's going on here," she says, glancing between me and Jacob, "but I should take off."

When Jacob and I are left alone at the table, an awkward silence blankets us. I look down at my untouched plate, I should tell Jacob that I have to get going too. Before I make up my mind, Jacob says,

"He's exactly the kind of person you like, smart and polite. He's a good guy."

"I told you, he seems nice," I say defensively, unnerved by Jacob's unwavering gaze.

"Come on Bella, I know you better than that. What's really going on?"

His tone strikes a chord with me; he's demanding but it's not angry, not even disappointed. It's something I haven't heard in a long time, and when I finally meet his eyes, the understanding in them is unbearable. I blindly rummage through my purse, any excuse not to see that painfully familiar expression, biting my lip hard as though pinching myself to wake from a dream. It hurts.

"He's a good friend of mine," Jacob says gently. I stop rooting around but I don't look up. "Do you want to talk about this?"

The word 'friend' is ringing in my ears as though he shouted it, repeating over and over until it's just a syllable, a sound, it doesn't have any meaning. It can't have anything to do with Ethan, because no matter how nice or smart or polite he is, he's just a good guy. My brother was everything to Jacob.

"Bella?"

Jacob is waiting for me to respond. I can't answer, just shake my head, a tight jerk from side to side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lean back in his chair, looking contemplative. I concentrate on breathing evenly, trying not to think about anything but the air slipping down my throat, and a moment later sighing back out.

"Can you believe Emma's story? I don't know how she gets into these situations." Startled, I look up, wondering whether I could have imagined the whole exchange. But his easy grin doesn't extend to his eyes, and his knuckles are white from gripping the arms of his chair.

I try to respond but my voice sticks. I clear my throat and say hoarsely, "Right. You won the bet."

"I almost feel bad claiming it," he teases, "Emma has the wool pulled so far over your eyes, it isn't a fair bet."

I keep up with his banter for a few more minutes, but it's been a long morning, and I tell him I have errands to run. Jacob's hand brushes the small of my back as I pass him, it's the briefest moment but it leaves a warm imprint. I shut my eyes, wishing intensely for one last moment that Derrick had been at the table with us, and nothing had changed.

**Hi everyone, that's it for this week. For those who were looking forward to more Edward, don't worry, there's piles of ExB coming up! **


	13. Chapter 12

**I hope everyone had a great Christmas! Thanx for reading (:**

I had expected sleek modern minimalism in Edward's apartment, but I'm surprised by how sparse it is. The paintings on the walls are brilliant against the stark monochromatic color scheme. Even with dim, intimate lighting, it's gorgeous in an aloof untouchable way. I sit down gingerly on the edge of the largest leather L-couch, thinking about how different this is from my own miniscule place. Not only the size but how pristine it is, I don't have much stuff but it tends to get strewn around, with clothes and makeup often left out as I make a mad dash for the door.

"Are you cold?" Edward asks. I realize that my arms are clasped protectively around my stomach, I must look like I'm freezing. There's a whooshing sound and I look up to see a line of flames leaping out of the ground, running the length of the room. It's not like any fireplace I've seen before. The coals are right on the ground, the flames contained within panes of glass that run from the floor to the ceiling, so that the fire is a wall between the room we're sitting in and the formal dining room.

"Thanks." I force myself to relax from my rigid position. I'd like to be conversational but am not sure what to say, and I start nervously twining my fingers in my lap. "Your apartment is beautiful."

"Not breathtaking like the roof," he says, and the puzzle piece that has been teasing the back of my mind clicks into place. The elevator from the parking garage had looked so familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on when I had been in it.

"You have the view," I say, blushing. I'm a little embarrassed that I hadn't thought twice about where we were. My eyes were focused on Edward, oblivious to our surroundings on the drive. "Did you know about the rooftop when you got this place?"

"It wasn't open yet," Edward says, sitting down beside me. I have my hands tucked under my thighs, since I can't stop fidgeting with them and it's driving me crazy. He encircles my wrist with his fingers, caressing up and down the inside. My pulse jumps, racing a hundred beats a second and I'm sure he can feel every one. "My family always had gardens and I missed them."

"You're not from the city?" I'm surprised, everything about Edward seems so... metropolitan.

"My family's from Georgia, I grew up in a rural town."

There are so many things I want to know, I should ask while he's being forthcoming. "You don't have a southern -" I start, but then shake my head. I had been thinking it, but meant to say something else.

"Drawl?" Edward asks, amused. "No, I don't." He gets up and walks toward the window, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city where a million other windows are winking back at us. Out there, people are living their lives, busy with their careers, and friendships, and families. Imagining them in the buildings below gives me a warm feeling, but somehow I don't think Edward is having the same reaction. There's no humour left in his voice. "It seems inviting right now, but large cities can be cold."

"But you'll never run out of things to do, and there are people everywhere."

"True, but they're all strangers." Edward turns around. It's as if I imagined his hard tone, his gaze on me is so warm. "I haven't offered you a drink."

He sets a bottle of champagne into an ice bucket, and I take the glass he offers. "Thank you," I say. Edward stands a few feet in front of me, towering over the low profile couch I'm perched on. It feels like I'm going to be interrogated and that I'm in a distinctly inferior position.

"Have you seen anyone since you moved back?" he asks.

I look up at him, confused by his question. "I don't know many people here, mainly Lindsay. We see each other a lot."

"I'm not asking about your friends, Isabella."

"Oh." I feel myself blush, embarrassed that I didn't understand his meaning. The only person I've dated recently is Matt, and that's the last thing I want to talk about. There's no way to describe it that doesn't make me look awful. I only saw him twice when I first moved back to the city, so I skip him altogether. "I haven't dated anyone since Boston."

"Good," Edward says, and at his tone, my eyes flash to his face. In the firelight, he's hotter than ever, his features in sharp relief against the flickering glow, but it's his gaze that pulls me in, scorching with possession and desire. He kneels in front of me, no less in control than when he was standing over me, especially when he pulls me onto my knees too. The length of our bodies are an increment apart but he doesn't let me come closer, his hands cupping my cheeks, his mouth a fraction of an inch from mine.

"I'm not going to see anyone else," I hear myself say, as if from a distance, just before his lips capture mine in a kiss that's breathtaking in its stillness. We're frozen together, his body exerting a delicious pressure on mine, and then he leans back, breaking our embrace.

"I'll be right back," he says, his voice low. He kisses me again and then stands up, helping me to my feet as well. As he walks away, he runs one hand through his hair, gripping it slightly before he lets go so that it sticks up a bit at the back.

I look around while I wait for him, the starkness of the room makes me feel like I'm breaking the rules. There's only one exception to the unmitigated clean lines, a gnarled bonsai tree on the coffee table. It must be three feet tall, with wide, flat branches dipping toward the table below, and right now it's dripping with purple blossoms. One arm has reached so low that it brushes the stone. The branch seems out of character: so laden with flowers that it droops, the petals resting on the rough grey surface. I'm surprised that Edward allowed this insubordination. I would have thought, judging by the rest of his apartment, that he would have had the straggling branch chopped off, but as I look closer I see that it has been carefully propped up. It seems incongruent somehow.

I step closer to the window, wanting to be closer to the place where Edward had been a few moments before, and look down. Hundreds of feet below is a gaping black hole of rushing water, clearly visible in the dark from floodlights that are catching the foaming spray. My breath catches in my throat from the sheer awesomeness and terror of it, looking down into the continuously disappearing pit where one of the Twin Towers had once stood. I've been to the memorial, and was awestruck at the boldness of creating something so dark, yet inspiring and poignant. But seeing it from this vantage point is a whole different experience. I wonder how Edward can stand to live overlooking it.

I hear a sound and spin around to see him standing in the middle of the room.

"Are you finished with your champagne?" he asks, and I nod. He comes closer, not quickly, but decisively. There's no mistaking his meaning when he looks at me like that, and I take a few steps forward, as if I was being drawn to a magnet. He captures my wrist in his hand, with the other he plucks the glass from my fingers and discards it in the champagne bucket.

I submit to him, pressing my lips to his as he sweeps me up in the moment. His mouth moves along my jaw, and when I lift my arms he strips my dress up and over my head. I lean into him, breathless and wanting to feel his lips on mine again, but he pulls away and reaches into the ice bucket. He brushes a chip of ice over my skin and I gasp as the sensation radiates out, every nerve alight under his touch. Running it along the edge of my bra, he trails down, drawing a path around my navel as my stomach clenches. Goosebumps spread like wildfire under his hands as he begins a slow exploration. Tipping my head back, he slides the ice up my neck, then into the crook of my elbow, across my palm and down each finger. The chill is intoxicating, followed by the heat of his body against mine as he runs his hands over me.

He moves down one leg, all his attention on the ice as he slips it along. I can feel the water droplets clinging to my skin, one escapes from the rest and I shudder as it slips between my toes. I'm gripping the pillows behind my head, waiting for the next shivering trail, when I sense Edward's absence. He has a fresh piece of ice between his fingers, and he's looking at me with pure carnal desire. He puts the ice in his mouth and gives me the slowest hottest coldest kiss I've ever had.

I grope for his belt, clumsily unbuckling it and pulling it free from his belt loops. I manage to unfasten his pants and, splaying my hands across toned abs, nudge him down onto the couch. I'm surprised when he follows my lead, it makes me feel strangely victorious. As I slip off the couch between his legs, kneeling in front of him, it's like I've suddenly gained the upper hand.

"Do I get the pleasure of bold Bella tonight?" He looks contemplative, as if he's studying some essence of me. But it's the challenging edge to his voice that sends nervous butterflies mixing with the adrenaline that's already racing through my veins from kissing him. Before my insecurities have a chance to inhibit me, I go along with my lustful instincts. I pull his pants off and lay kisses on the inside of his leg, tentatively using my tongue, and sucking on his skin. He groans and arches slightly, and gaining more confidence I make my way up the inside of his thighs to his impressive length. He's so hard, the sight and feel of him makes my breath come fast and shallow as I suck his tip, velvety soft skin sheathing erect, unyielding cock. I'm completely turned on, taking him all the way inside, caressing him with my lips and tongue. I love the way he feels in my mouth and the sound of his moan as I hum deep in my throat, his hands tangling in my hair. Setting the pace fast and hard, I'm lost in the rhythm until suddenly I find myself on my back, on the floor, and Edward is kissing me everywhere, moving at a frenetic pace until my whole body is tingling with sensation.

I'm rocked hard as Edward rips my bra and underwear right off, I watch shocked and fascinated as the shredded lace floats to the ground beside us. He pulls me to my feet. I'm unsteady, every part of me crackling, like electricity running through exposed wires, and I cling to his neck. He sweeps me off the ground, and I tuck my face into his shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him.

I'm assuming he'll take me to his bedroom but he stops at the dining room table and lays me across it, under a gigantic, ethereally-beautiful blown glass chandelier. He stretches out on top of me, his skin enveloping mine, his hard cock pressing against me. I moan and arch up against him, needing him inside me and he drags his hands along my skin, taking my breast into his mouth as his cock slides into me. I strain against him so that he plunges to my core. Holding onto him as tight as I can, the feeling of my body being smothered and conquered by his is a kind of euphoria. He pins my wrists with his hands and looks down at me, his eyes travelling over my body, coming back to linger on my face. I devour him through the haze of my desire. He's like a golden god over me, the light playing shadow tricks over his body as my vision blurs. He's sliding in and out of me fast and hard and I can hear myself as if it's someone else, crying out over and over. My mouth is captured in an earth-shattering kiss as we orgasm, clenched together in a tight hold, our embrace relaxing as the raw gratification slowly dissipates.

Eventually we slide off the table and he takes my hand, leading me to his sprawling master bedroom. The bed is gigantic and instead of a traditional head and footboard, the ends curl up like a sleigh, the headboard curving toward a fireplace that's set deep into the wall. The edges of the nook are padded with leather, invoking all kinds of images of how it could be used. Tonight its function is romance, Edward has covered the hearth with dozens of candles.

"Look at the ceiling, I'm going to show you something." He lies down beside me, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. I cuddle closer to him in the semi-darkness, the room lit only by the flickering candles. He reaches up to squeeze my shoulder, and in response I turn my head and take in what's happening above me. A million tiny lights slowly appear, it's as if we're underneath a blanket of stars.

"This is so beautiful," I whisper, rolling on my side to face him. I trace his face with my fingers, admiring his defined nose, his soft sensual lips, his eyes which undo me. I wrap myself around him, wanting to be completely entwined and once again am lost in his kiss. It's languid and syrupy slow like lying on a blanket on a hot summer's day, or maybe something sticky and viscous like molasses slowly dripping off a spoon. Our hands lazily explore each other, smooth skin that's still a little damp from our last time. Edward arrives at my ass and gives me a firm squeeze, I moan and arch against him, reacting without thinking to the unexpected sensations.

In one quick motion he flips me over and then he's hovering over me, observing me from beneath hooded lids. He lowers his head to trail kisses along my ribs, when I start to squirm at the sensation, his hands clamp down on my arms, keeping me from moving. The kisses stop and I'm frozen in a delicious agony of suspense. Finally I feel him on me again, his teeth scraping along my skin into a gentle bite. He runs his palm along the inside of my legs, spreading them open, his kisses continuing their trail toward my centre, lingering as they get closer. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, massaging my clit until I'm moaning and desperately arching against him. I gasp in a shaky breath as his cool tongue slips between the folds, teasing me until I feel like I won't be able to bear it unless he fills me with his cock. Instead he pushes me until my orgasm makes everything momentarily black and I'm clenching and quivering around his finger.

Edward sucks gently on my skin, bringing me back to life. My body feels tender and fragile, I'm tingling all over and every touch is magnified, especially the cool wet sensation of his kisses. He deposits them everywhere, stopping to lavish them on the places that are so sensitive, I can't help but gasp. Finally he fills me again and again, slowly at first, sliding in and out, the absolute satisfaction building in my core with each stroke, so overwhelming that I feel a physical ache in my chest.

He tumbles us around until I'm on top. I move tentatively at first, he's so big and in this position his thrusts plunge deeper, I'm distracted and self-conscious for a moment, as I adjust to the added tightness. And then all I can think about is that feeling I had after our first time, and the only thought I have in my head is I want that again. That relaxed happiness, lying on my bed with Edward, it stands out as an oasis in an otherwise barren year. I ride him as if it's the only thing that matters, crashing into my orgasm, and shattering.

We lie together, engulfed in the slowly ebbing convulsions of orgasm I'm not sure what number. I give a luxurious stretch and lie sprawled over the sheets, indulging in the blissful feeling that I've been craving.

Finally I make myself get up, it feels like I have to peel myself off the bed to go rinse off. Edward comes up behind me and passes me a bath towel just as I'm about to ask him for one. Other than soap and hand towels the bathroom is completely bare. I pause, watching as he opens a drawer and takes out his toothbrush and toothpaste.

"Uncomfortable with my organization?" he asks.

"Is that what you call it?" I wonder out loud. "I guess I'm just mystified, you don't strike me as a compulsive person."

He looks at me contemplatively. "You're right, you should be the person with the neurotically organized apartment, but you seem to like to throw things around."

"I don't throw things around," I say defensively, "I'm just busy running out the door a lot."

"You know, that's the funny thing about compulsion," Edward replies, "even when you're busy, you find time to do the task because it's important."

"So you're compulsive?" I ask tentatively.

Edward looks at me in a way that makes me feel like I've said something bad. "No Bella, I'm just organized."

I was assuming that we would shower together but after our exchange Edward doesn't seem to be in the mood. I step into the hot steam, feeling like I screwed everything up, wanting to scrub my body until I feel clean and new again. Not that I did anything wrong, I reason with myself, I just feel like our evening suddenly went from perfect to uncomfortable. I want Edward way too much for uncomfortable to be anywhere close to okay. My stomach is in knots already and I mentally scold myself for being so vulnerable and sensitive to Edward's every response. I spend a long time under the hot spray and when I finally step back out of the shower, I'm feeling much more balanced and rational.

I stifle a yawn as I walk back into the bedroom, it must be very late by now and exhaustion from the intense evening is setting in. My clothes are already folded on the bed and Edward has a t-shirt and boxers stacked neatly beside them. I'm happy that Edward assumed that I would stay over, my body hums with contentment as I pull on the soft loose clothes.

"You must be tired," Edward says, startling me out of my thoughts, I hadn't heard him walk back into the room.

"Exhausted," I say, stifling another yawn on cue to prove it.

"Go to sleep," he says, lightly trailing his finger over my abdomen, "I'll come soon." With one last melting kiss he leaves me to his gigantic bed, the stars still shining overhead. I want to stay awake until he gets back so I stretch out on my back and admire the stars. The ceiling is so beautiful, the stars are in familiar patterns with loops and clusters that are soothing to look at, and within a few moments I'm dark to the world.

My morning doesn't go well. When I wake up, Edward is already on his way out. Not wanting to be left in his apartment by myself, I hastily dress in what remains of my clothes and rush out the door with him. By the time my cab has crept through the busy streets and deposited me at home, I'm already late for work, and when I finally make it to my desk I'm in a frazzled state, and there's already an overwhelming, teetering stack of things for me to do. The case load I received when I started my job was intimidating, but exciting, a chance to try my hand at all different types of law as I supported various lawyers in the firm. I couldn't wait to turn up information other people had missed, see through the lies of broken families, maybe even find a criminal or two. Now I find myself retreating to the lobby of the firm, trying to get away from the pressure for a couple of minutes. I reflect with some embarrassment on those early thoughts and grand aspirations. It only took me a couple of months to realize that research is drudge work - valuable work, something I can enjoy when I'm in the right mood, but painstaking nonetheless.

All morning I've been working through the heaping pile of files, given to me by a particularly demanding defence attorney who is high up in the firm. Rumour has it, he's been successful because of his hard-ass practices. I'm grateful for the opportunity, it's rare for someone as junior as me, but all the same I need to hide down here for a few minutes, until I can look at a document without the lines blurring together. The constant flow of harassed-looking businessmen in the street is strangely reassuring. Other people's stress reminds me that this is the way things are, and reinforces that I'm doing the right thing. I just need to grind through this like everyone else.

"Hello, Bella."

I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear Carter approach. He's right next to me, looking out at the street as well. I'm never sure what to say to him, and at the moment I don't want to talk to anyone, so I acknowledge him then continue to stand quietly, hoping he'll do the same. At the best of times, he's an uncomfortable person to be around, and with my tolerance so low I'm noticing every little thing. He's stiff, his posture is excellent but his head is always at a funny angle, like he has a problem with his neck, and he turns his whole body when he looks from side to side. Despite those deliberate movements, I've never met anyone so fidgety; he keeps running his palm along his forehead, smoothing his already pristine hair.

"It's getting very hot out there."

I force a smile of agreement. After a glance at me, perhaps to gauge my reaction, he tries again. "What are you working on?"

"I can't really tell you about it." I hope I sound tactful, but his reaction tells me that I don't need to worry.

"Of course. Discretion is very important. Carrie is always extremely firm on that point."

Carrie's a senior partner in our firm, but I've only seen her a couple of times in passing. Seeing my surprise at his familiarity with her, he says modestly, "I met her before I graduated. She came to Harvard to poach me from the family business."

"That's where I graduated from, too," I say, "we might have just missed each other."

"You were a couple of years behind me, I believe."

I'm taken aback that he remembers me from school. He must have an amazing memory. Recalling the excitement I felt when I received an employment package from the firm, I can't imagine what it was like to have Carrie approach him in person.

"Your family has a firm?" I ask, not very curious but wanting to be polite.

"Carter Cullen." He points to himself, and I gape.

"The Cullen Group? Wow, why…?"

Carter's smile is tight. "I don't exactly get along with the rest of my family."

"Have you ever had to face them in court?" I'm intrigued by the idea, but Carter's smile has turned condescending.

"That would be a conflict of interest. We know too much about each other." He says it like a threat, and I find myself wishing I was back in my office.

"Well, I'd better…" I gesture to the elevators, and he hurries ahead of me to press the button.

As soon as I step out of the elevator, I freeze. I know the laugh of the man standing at reception, and that windblown brown hair. He's in jeans and a distressed T-shirt, and he's leaning on the front desk, chatting with April, the receptionist. She reaches out and puts her hand flirtatiously on his arm, it makes me a little nauseous even though it's someone else. I hadn't wanted to see Matt again and him being here at my work, talking to my co-workers is a bad dream. I'm sure his very presence in the reception area, which has always reminded me of a distinguished library in an English Manor House, will taint the plush carpet that he's standing on. He's gritty and dirty to me now.

He turns towards me, as if he already knew that I was standing here. Involuntarily, I look around for Carter, but he's disappeared. April is concentrating on her screen, studiously ignoring us.

"Hi, Bella." As his cocky gaze meets mine, his hand closes around my waist and he pulls me in tight. I turn my head, but he still lingers with a hard kiss at the top of my cheekbone.

"I'm at work," I say, my body tense, fearful of provoking him and making a scene. "Didn't you get my email?"

"I'm here so we can talk about it. Come on, I'll take you for lunch."

I bite back the words that are bound to ignite his short fuse, instead looking at the floor and murmuring a lie. "I can't, I have a meeting right now."

"Rearrange it, Bella," he says, giving me his charming boyish smile. My spine stiffens as his grip tightens around me. "I'm going to make it up to you."

"That's not an option." I can't keep the hostility out of my voice, even though I see how angry my disobedience is making him. I need to get away before he has a chance to march me right out of the office. Slipping out of his grasp, I walk quickly through the doors to a meeting room, praying I'm not going to walk in on anyone. As soon as I close the door behind me I start shaking, but I can't predict Matt, I'm not sure that he wouldn't follow me. I cross to the opposite door, snake through more hallways and up a flight of stairs, taking as many twists and turns as possible.

I'm in the stairwell when my phone chimes, echoing in the narrow space and making me miss a step. I have to grab the railing, my stomach lurches and for a moment I'm afraid I'll slip on the concrete. It's a text from Matt. A cool chill settles into my bones, making them feel rigid.

_I'm very disappointed in you, Bella_.


	14. Chapter 13

***Sorry for the mix-up today***

**Hi everyone, thanks for reading! So in this chapter Bella and Edward continue to get closer (good thing, because the drama between these two is still coming – this story is only just getting started). And Bella is beginning to make a new friend (:**

**I want to thank The Lemonade Stand for giving me the best Christmas present ever, by recommending Vespers and sending so many of you over to check out my story! As writers we pour so much into our words and it is the most amazing feeling to know people are reading what I put so much of my heart into! xoxoxoxoxoxox Kera**

I walk along carefully, staying near the middle. The view up here is beautiful but I keep my eyes on the pebbles and patches of grass poking through the rubble. There was a time, not long ago, when I might have recklessly walked along the exposed side, daring myself to slip off the edge. That was when I was so angry at death that I had lost my fear, but the terror has crept back in, slowly but stronger. Now a bridge as high as this, with nothing between myself and the edge falling away to nothing, makes the panic rise in my chest.

I'm surprised how far I've walked by the time I see Edward waiting for me. He's leaning against the rail looking out over the view, and he looks peaceful, like when he was on the rooftop. There's a serenity about him when he's on a ledge.

"Good morning," Edward says as I approach, but he doesn't turn to look at me. "We missed the sunrise."

There's a large rock nearby, set back from the edge, and I rest, half sitting on it, my feet planted firmly on the ground. The solidity is reassuring, and from my new perch I look around. Far below us the river flows swiftly, but from here I mostly see green park.

"Do you come here often?" I ask.

"Fairly. I enjoy the history of it," he says, finally turning to look at me.

"Oh. It's the city's oldest bridge isn't it?"

"Yes, built in 1848. It's an aqueduct designed on Roman principles."

"Why do you like heights so much?" I ask him curiously. He ignores me, answering with another question.

"Do you like them?"

I shake my head. "It makes me nervous."

"But you came," he says, something glimmering in his eyes, satisfaction maybe. "What about it scares you?"

"Falling," I answer automatically, then hesitate. My feelings are very clear but I don't like to explore where they came from, I don't like to think back. "I suppose anything that reminds me of how fragile we are."

"Being up high has the opposite effect on me." There's something like a smile on his lips, they aren't curling up but the set of them mirrors the expression in his eyes, he's pleased by something. "Standing, looking down over everything below, it's an invincible feeling." Turning away from the edge he comes over to me, pulling me up and against him. He captures my mouth in a soft kiss.

Linking his fingers in mine, he says, "Let's have breakfast."

We choose the first breakfast place we see, a quaint little café. My body is seeped through with a mellow satisfaction from the outdoor exercise and I'm starving. We made plans early in the morning before work because Edward is busy tonight, but the morning meet-up is turning out to be just as nice.

"Have you gotten anywhere with Mimi yet?" I ask Edward.

"No," he says, "I haven't had a chance to make the trip again."

"I love the drive up to Long Island. It reminds me of the south of France." I immediately wish I could take it back, what sounded cultured in my head is pretentious and staged to my ears, but Edward doesn't seem to notice.

"Have you been there often?"

"Only once, when I was younger. I haven't travelled except for a trip to Paris, and once to Bordeaux."

"Your parents didn't travel much? Or you didn't go with them?"

"They never travel, that one time was with Jake and - " I stumble on the words, realizing that of all people Edward won't want to hear about Jacob. "And his family, they were family friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes, our parents were all friends." I had spent the entire trip wishing Jacob would see me as more than Derrick's little sister. Bordeaux was beautiful and Jacob was being more attentive than usual, watching out for me in a foreign country.

"But your parents didn't go with you?"

"What?" I really wish I could come up with a new topic but my mind has gone blank.

"You said your parents didn't travel."

"Oh. No, we went alone."

"We? Do you have siblings?"

"Yes but I just meant, we went as a group without them." I've run out of breath, I stop to gulp some air feeling panicky.

"Does your family live in the city?" Edward asks.

"My mom does. My father moved away recently." The waitress puts our food in front of us but I'm not very hungry anymore. I feel the familiar hands clenching and unfurling in my stomach. I shove the feeling back forcefully.

"Where did he move?"

"Minnesota," I say shortly.

"I thought you were hungry," Edward says, surveying me closely. I pick up my fork and take a bite, making myself chew.

"I am," I say, forcing enthusiasm, "this is really good." I mentally criticize myself for being so emotive. I was enjoying being with Edward so much, and talking about my family will just ruin it. Recalling one small detail he let me in on, I ask,

"What about your parents, do they still live in Georgia?"

"Yes," he says. He takes a slow sip of his cappuccino. "On a charming southern estate. You should come with me sometime for a visit."

Edward is so aloof, that the suggestion seems infinitely more personal than anything we could do physically. The implication of his words is exciting, that he's thinking about us being together in the future and that he would take me to where he grew up. "I've never been to the south."

"It's lovely." Something about the way he says it is possessive, I imagine the loveliness to come from him personally, as if his perception could change reality. "The pace where I'm from is so languid and slow. When I'm here, there's something exotic about home."

"It sounds like you love it there, why did you move?"

"Slow is nice for a weekend." Edward's expression closes off. "But I would never trade it for the city."

I don't know what to say. Finally I decide to just change the subject, he obviously doesn't want to talk about it anyway. "I grew up in New York, the only other place I've lived was Boston for my articling."

"Did you like it there?"

I shrug. "All my memories are in New York," I say with a stab of half-pleasurable, half-painful nostalgia. I pick up my spoon and stir my coffee, hoping Edward will say something before I have to look up at him. But he tips my chin up so that I have to unveil my gaze for him.

"You can make new memories anywhere," he says.

I manage a smile, though I'm not sure how convincing it is. "You're right."

"There are so many amazing things to see," he says, examining my eyes for a long moment before finally releasing my chin. "Though nothing quite as intriguing and beautiful as you." A thrill shoots through me, but I fix my eyes on my coffee. I don't buy his words, and the insincerity of what must be a false compliment is clouding my enjoyment. Maybe I should just indulge in his attention and not overthink everything. Really, aren't big romantic statements often not to be taken literally, it's the feelings behind them.

"I have something for you," Edward says, pulling out a long thin box and sliding it across the table.

"Thank you," I reply, caught off guard and flustered by his gift, "what's the occasion?"

"There doesn't have to be an occasion, Isabella," Edward says. "Go on, open it."

I fumble with the ribbon, his words, or his intense scrutiny, or the heat I feel under his gaze making it impossible for me to undo the knots.

"Here," Edward says, taking it back and using his knife. He slices through the ribbon and paper in one quick motion. Inside is a delicate charm bracelet. The charms don't dangle much and there are so many of them clustered together that I have to look closely to see what they are.

"I have one more that I want to add to it," Edward says, taking a little bag out of his pocket. It's a little, cherry red enamel heart. He adds it to the bracelet, then taking my wrist clasps it on me.

"Wow, Edward it's so beautiful," I say, "thank you."

He lifts my wrist to his mouth, brushing his lips just above where the bracelet rests.

Edward drops me off at work. He leans across the car and gives me a lingering kiss before I get out, and it feels so… relationshipish.

"What are you thinking?" Edward asks.

I look up at him in surprise, blushing at the thought.

"You can tell me," he says.

"For a second it felt," I falter, then hurriedly finish, "like we were dating."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"No, I mean, a boyfriend. Never mind, it was just a thought that went through my head," I say opening the door, feeling horribly awkward.

A smile is curving Edward's lips. "My apologies, sometimes I assume things that I shouldn't. Isabella, will you be my girlfriend?"

Even though it must have appeared that way, I truly hadn't been trying to solidify some kind of relationship status. Yet as Edward says the words, my heart is pounding in my chest, like I've been hoping for him to ask me. "Yes, of course," I say softly. I'm afraid that if he kisses me again I'll never want to get out of the car, so I hastily scramble onto the sidewalk, and giving him a little wave, walk into the office tower.

When I walk into the office that I share with Rachel, she's excitedly waiting for me.

"You took forever this morning," she says, "I'm always the late one."

"What's going on?" I ask, taking in her frazzled state, wondering how it is that the more chaotic she looks the more impossibly adorable and lovable she gets. Rachel is the kind of person who would carefully put nylons on, and somehow get a snag in them five minutes later. It's happened on multiple occasions, and is the reason she is, at this moment, wearing leggings and a tunic instead of taking wardrobe risks.

"Guess who I saw together?" she says, pulling me down into the chair next to her. She drops her voice to a whisper. "I mean, they were _together_, in the office."

"In a couple-type way?"

Rachel nods. "Carter and Carrie! Her office door was open a crack. They were in the middle of something, but when I was halfway down the hall, I heard her door close. Do you think they realized?"

Carter is so stiff, it's hard to imagine him locked in an embrace. And Carrie is a senior partner, as well as probably two decades older than him. His story of how she recruited him at Harvard seems even stranger now. "Are you sure that's what you saw, Rachel?"

"Definitely. I wish I hadn't, I hate knowing inappropriate things about other people." She hesitates. "It is inappropriate, right? I'm not just thinking it's weird because of the age difference, or because she's so… overbearing?"

I have to laugh at her sheepish expression. "Carrie's a bulldozer," I agree, "maybe she likes how quiet he is." Even as I say it, I realize that Carter probably isn't the type to let himself get run over by anyone. We sit in silence, pondering the situation.

"Wow, what a weird couple," she finally says.

"It's hard to see the attraction. Carter seems, I don't even know what it is. Just something not quite right."

"Really?" Rachel says, surprised. "I'd date him. Well, if I was into that kind of old-fashioned charm." She looks up and her face turns bright pink. Carter is standing in the doorway.

"Hello," he says, looking directly at Rachel.

"Good morning, Carter," I say quickly, trying to divert his attention. I feel bad for Rachel, she's studying the carpeted floor intently. I don't know how much Carter heard. I probably said something regrettable too, but instead of frantically thinking back to what he might have overheard, I focus on Carter. He acknowledges me with a nod.

"Were you trying to see Carrie?"

"Yes," I say, forcing myself to not look away, "the door was closed and I wasn't sure if I should disturb her."

He smiles, but it looks fixed, as if it were plastered on. "You can always try knocking."

"Okay," I say, nodding, "I'll be sure to remember that next time."

Carter leaves, and Rachel turns to me, her eyes wide. "I'm a gigantic wimp. I'm going to tell him right now that it was me."

I grab her hand as she stands up. "That would be a bad plan."

"I guess you're right." She comes over instead and smothers me in a hug. It feels like there are four pairs of arms wrapped around me, and her purse swings from her shoulder and bumps me in the head. "You're an amazing friend, I owe you big for this one."

I'm embarrassed by her effusiveness, but my heart glows toasty warm. Being around Rachel makes me feel like I'm drinking a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows piled on top. "He wouldn't have caught us if I'd been on time," I say, and she laughs.

"That's right, it was your fault. I guess we better take this kind of conversation somewhere else, huh?"

"Want to have lunch?" I say impulsively, and then wish I hadn't. If she was speaking figuratively, then asking the question will put her in the awkward position of trying not to offend the person she shares her office with. I'm about to take it back when Rachel says,

"Sure. Let's go early, I'm not going to get any work done anyway. I'll be distracted by this all morning."

I have to go to a meeting, so we quickly pick a café. I head out the door wondering if Carter's going to have a problem with me because of this. On the one hand I'm just as glad if he doesn't keep trying to corner me into conversations, but I don't want him as an adversary either. Especially if he's in a relationship with Carrie.


End file.
